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THE 



GREAT HOUSE; 



OR, 



VARIETIES OF AMERICAN LIFE. 



A DRAMA. 



By AMELIA PRINGLE CAMPBELU,^ 



NEW YORK; 

PRINTED BY EDWARD O. JENKINS, 

20 NORTH WILLIAM STREET. 

1882. 




Copyright, 1882, by Amelia Pringle Campbell. 




TMP92-008790 






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AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 



A VEAR since, I was induced by a relative to see "The World," 
then running at Wallack's. I had scarce ever been to a theatre 
before, and the impression produced was so vivid, that the plot of 
this play was formed before I left the house. In the course of a 
short time I had written it out, but not knowing how to arrange 
and model it, I laid it aside. 

A recent event* recalled it to my recollection. A year in the 
city' had greatly developed my mind, and I have now devoted to 
this Drama my best endeavors. 

I have seen and read very few plays. Conscious of possessing a 
tendency to enthusiasm and romance, I early formed the resolution 
to studv history and biography, and to eschew works of imagina- 
tion ; yet, having once witnessed the above striking representa- 
tion, the natural bent of my mind burst through all barriers and 
thus asserted itself. 

The name of Stuyvesant occurred to me in connection with the 
first Governor of New York. The manager is at liberty to intro- 
duce any other name and any other ancestor, whom he may desire 
to compliment, in place of the revered Peter. 

In \'enturing to bring forward my heroine in the character of a 
servant, I have used the historical name of Randolph for a Virginia 
family, to give interest to the narrative, and to heighten the con- 
trast of her varied fortunes. 

It seems to the author (independently of religious faith) the 
proper poetic idea to represent Marie, (when despoiled and aban- 
doned in this great city), trusting in God for protection. 

Earnestly requesting the favorable indulgence of the public, 
I liubscribe myself hopefully, 
A. P. C. 

* The Withdrawal of a Greaf Mercantile House. 



CAST OF CHARACTERS. 



Charles Randolph,* (BrotJje}- of^lh-Riv)). 
Frank Stuyvesant, a young laivycr. 
Mr. Stuyvesant, Sr., Frank's/^///^;-. 
Mr. Blount, Marie's uncle by tnarriage. 
Clerk of Court. 
Prob.ate Judge. 

Judge Tryon, head of the Great House. 
Mr. Screw, head of department. 
George Hill, di'/aultiug cashier of department. 
Judge Kingdom, presides in Court Room. 
Jones. "l 

Caldwell. ^ Salesmen. 

Brown. J 

Fox. ~| 

Siiarpe. \ Laivyers. 

Roundabout. J 
Byst.ander. 
Two Clerks. 
Turnkey. 
Jeweller's Clerk. 

ClergymaIvT appears only in marriage scene. 
Augustus O'Leary appears as witness once. 
Three Little Boys, Stuyvesants, ap pear tivice. 
Marie Randolph,- heroine. 
Mrs. Blount, her aunt. 

Mrs. Armitage, bereaved Tvidow (her son has died from ivork in the 
Great House., and she is partially deratiged). 
Three Lady Visitors to Mrs. Blount. 
Mrs. Stuyvesant, mother to Frank. 
Mrs. Hill, mother to George Hill. 
Three Children (Hills) present at trial. 

Lady 

Mme. M.anteau, a dress-maker. 

Mlle. Fandango, a milliner. 

Clarinda, Marie's colored jturse. 

Jane, Mrs. Blount's Irish servant. 

Another Servant. 

Two Maids, Mrs. Stuyvesants, a/pear once. 

Little Beggar Boy. 

Dim Forms of Angels. 

Five Park Policemen. "^ 



• Marie is sixteen and Charles fourteen years old. 



ARGUMENT. 



Two orphan children — Marie and Charles Randolph — are 
persuaded by the Clerk of Court, the Probate Judge, and their 
lawyer (Fox), to give up all their property into their charge. They 
form a plan to retain the whole ; and the children, deprived by them 
of all means, take refuge with an aunt in New York. Their old 
nurse Clarinda earnestly advises them to remain, offering that 
her sons will work to support them. They come to their aunt ; 
who, finding them deprived of their property, and almost penniless 
on her hands, sets them to work, CHARLES in the Great House, 
Marie almost as a servant for her convenience. 

The Great House is then described, the management, etc. ; 
prison scene ; an employe who has defaulted to a small amount ; 

trial of the same; LADY Mrs. S disguised as a Sister of 

Charity, etc. 

Marie is turned out of doors, takes refuge in an arbor in Cen- 
tral Park, is sheltered by policeman's wife, takes service as luirse- 
maid in the family of Mr. Stuyvesant ; FRANK Stuyvesant, 
the same young lawyer who appears in the prison and the court 
scene, falls in love with her, secures for her his mother's care and 
protection, becomes engaged to her, goes to Virginia, unmasks the 
villainy and treachery of Clerk OF CoURT, PROBATE JUDGE, and 
Lawyer ; Marie and Charles regain possession of their prop- 
erty ; faithful servants assist and appear again ; final scene is the 
marriage of FRANK Stuyvesant and Marie. Finale, tableau 
of the marriage. 



THE GREAT HOUSE; 

OR, 
VARIETIES OF AMERICAN LIFE. 

ACT I. 

SCENE \.— Office of Clerk of Court. The PROBATE JUDGE and 
Mr„ Fox, a lawyer, arc present. The CLERK is seated in an 
arm-chair writing at a table ; two young men, his clerks, are 
writing at desks on one side of the room. 

Clerk of Court {absently, as though he knew, hut had for- 
gotten). How long is it since Mrs. Randolpli died? 

Probate Judge. Six months, and the children seem to have no 
idea of having the estate settled. 

Fox. I have been there, and sent others; we have persuaded 
them that an administration is absolutely necessary. 

Clerk. And when.? 

f^ox. They will be here to-day, and we must all have our laces 
drawn down to the proper length. 

Clerk. Poor children, I dare say they will find this world a hard 
one. 

Fpx. When you have administered I rather suppose they will. 

Clerk. When I am on the scent of money I am pretty apt to 
find it, but I hope they will find friends to care for them ; I am not 
cruel or vindictive, though I prefer my own interest to theirs. I 
even regret t^ie necessity, for Mr. Randolph was a kind neighbor 
and a good man. 

P. Judge. She did not survive him long. 

Fox. When he died any one could look at her and see that she 
would soon follow. 

Clerk {laughing). Don't you remember — she wanted to ad- 
minister? 

P. Judge. I was all politeness, but took good care to approve ot 
no security that she could bring. 

Fox. That was the dinner, this is the dessert, now we will have 
both together. 

Clerk. We knew better than to let her settle the estate. 



Copyright, 18S2, by Amelia Pringle Campbell. 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 



Enter Marie «;/(^/ Charles dressed in deep mourning. 

Marie should always, tmtil Act J'., Scene ■zd, be dressed in a neat, simple^ 
black calico or lawn, hair curli7ig long i?t tire back, short over her brow, or 
parted in waves ; ivhite straiv hcit with black ribbon, pretty and becoming, but 
simple ; that a petite person should take the part is preferable. 

Clerk {rises, knus low, receives them with great cordiality). 
Welcome, my children ; look upon nie as a second father. What 
can I desire but your interest and welfare ? I am a rich man ; my 
only wish is to watch over the fatherless and the widow. That is 
alike my duty and my pleasure ; money is no object to me. My 
motive in consenting to manage your estate, my children, is that I 
may save you from all the snares and deceits which might beset 
your tender age, were you left to face the world alone. 

P. Judge (comes forivard, shakes hands warmly with both). 
This is the very flower of our profession — one of the pleasing and 
delightful duties which make up for much that is dull and disagree- 
able. 

Fox. What a pleasure to render our assistance. Lovely and 
highly-revered young lady, I feel all the chivalry of my youth re- 
stored only to behold you ; look upon me as a father. 

Chai^les. The clerk is going to be our father. 

Fox. Then fet me be your elder brother, look to me to arrange 
everything for you. {Takes Marie's fair hand and looks at it.) 
Ah, how unfit to face the world is this little hand — suited only to 
gather flowers ere the dew has risen, perhaps to paint them. I have 
heard of your flower painting, my dear — to care for you is the very 
poetry of existence. Do you think you can have patience with a 
blunt, plain-spoken old fellow like me ? 

Marie. We are very much pleased that you gentlemen speak so 
kindly to us — we thank you. 

Clerk. I had the greatest possible regard and respect for your 
father; when he was the wealthy and aristocratic Mr. Randolph, I 
grew up a poor boy, near his estates, and was often encouraged and 
befriended by him. 

Fox. We all loved and honored him ; to the judge he lent a help- 
ing hand ; to me he gave excellent advice concerning my studies 
and choice of a profession. 

Judge. A few such men as he was are the salt of a community; 
we who found in him a friend, now delight to care for his children. 
Tell me, my dear {to Marik), whatever you wish that your words 
may be my law (placing his hand on his heart), everything shall 
be done as you desire. 

Marie. Mamma's chief anxiety was that Charles' education 
should be carefully finished ; she wished him to have every advan- 
tage, as he is naturally talented. We hope you will take care that 
his studies shall not be interrupted. Will you regard our money as 
a sacred trust for that purpose.? 

Judge (aside). My conscience smites me ; this child does not 



6 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

think of herself; and I Oh ! what am 1? {Aloud). \ will, so 

Heaven help me, thus regard it ; but for yourself. Speak your wishes 
for yourself, my dear. 

Marie. Only that we may not be separated ; that I may con- 
tinue to watch over Charles, as dear mamma desired me to do. 

Judge. I repeat that 1 will regard your trust as sacred. What 
is my duty and the object of my whole life, save to befriend and to 
care for the fatherless and the widow ? 

A Bystander {who has come in duruis; ilic conversation). He 
— yes, he comforts the widows, sure enough. 

(Marie has gone to the door ; she turns back, clasps her hands 
together, and looks up into the jVDGK'sface. Fox afid the CLERK 
are staiiding with him). Oh ! sirs, remember {she says) though we 
have no earthly parent or protector, yet God Himself is the Father 
of the fatherless. Remember that He will look upon you according 
as you shall act by us orphan children, who trust our all to you. 

Clerk {extending his hands in the most earnest manner). Be- 
lieve in me, I will protect you, represent you, and act for you. I 
will care for you as for my own children. 

Judge. If I act against you or if I deceive you, may Heaven smite me. 

Charles. Then we trust you. 

[Exeunt MARIE «;/(^/ Charles. 

The young men writi)ig at desks 7vit/idraw at a signal from the 
Clerk of Court. 

Judge. "Conscience makes cowards of us all." I don't believe 
I can go forward to rob those orphans of their all. When I hear 
that girl speak, I am a very recreant about it. I can not do it. 

Fox. You are too soft-hearted ; she said the same to me, and 
what do I care? Words are but idle breath ; gold and lands are 
something substantial. 

Judge. I can not carry out our scheme. You must work out 
your will on some one else. . 

Fox. Then I bring forward your pleasant little speculations with 
the Freeman estate, and I publish to the world how you paid off 
the Smith children their portions in Confederate money, which you 
knew to be worthless, while their own gold was lying buried in your 
cellar. 

Judge. I have a little daughter — my only child. While Marie 
Randolph was speaking, I seemed to see before me ray child, all in 
black as she was, and so placing herself in j'^w power. It seemed 
that I was dead, yet I looked on and saw it. 

Clerk {takes out a bottle of brandy and glasses from a secret 
receptacle). This is pure hypochondria; stick to practical realities, 
man. What will your daugdUer do if we bring forward such of your 
peccadilloes as we have mentioned, and some more such besides.'' 
She would find herself thrown on the world, sure enough, then. 
Drink something healthy and strong, and act like a man {hands 
him a glass of brandy). 



THE GREAT HOQSE. 7 

Judge {driuks part of it). Oh! what a dreadful thing it is to 
begin to walk in the downward path ; when once we have let Satan 
bind us and carr^' us his way. Oh !' how hard ; how impossible to 
turn back. Could I but have felt thus ; had this conviction only been 
given me when I began 

Fox. To have such a fine time with widows' and orphans' estates. 
But those things are best forgotten. Take another glass, old fel- 
low, and throw to the vvinds all such vagaries. 

Judge. For me it is too late — too late. I can not now turn back ; 
but, alas ! my daughter, my daughter ! would that I were but LJie 
poorest day laborer, and so had retained mine honor and honesty. 
Sometimes when I am riding in my carriage, I wish that I could be 
set down in the street with nothing but the clothes 1 wear, so that 
I might escape the burden and the terror with which this ill-gotten 
wealth continually affrights me. 

Fox places a glass of brandy to his lips and almost forces him 
to drink it. 

Clerk. Do stop him ; give me a glass too ; he has almost made 
me sick in the same way. (^Thcy drink together). 

Curtain. 



SCENE II. — Parlor in the Virginia Home. I'ortrait of Marie's 
mother on the wall. 

Marie and Charles are seated together reading a letter. 
Marie. How kind ; Charley dear, let us never forget this. {Reads). 

" My Dear Children : Your beloved mother was to me a tender 
parent when I was orphaned and poor ; now I rejoice even in my 
sorrow that I can return her kindness — that I can be a parent to 
you. Come immediately to us ; I await with impatience to behold 
the children of my much-loved sister. 

" Your affectionate aunt, 

"Ellen Blount." 

Marie. Most kind, yet I dread to leav'e our home and our native 
State. Grand old Virginia, the mother of States and of statesmen ; 
she who gave Washington to our country. Here we were born ; 
here are the graves of our ancestors and of our parents {Rises and 
stands before the portrait, which should really be a likeness of the 
person who is to represent the mother's spirit later). Oh ! dearest 
mamma {apostrophising the portrait) ; it seems as though you can 
still look upon us while we are here; this place alone seems home. 
It may be that in this house only you can come to us, and must we 
leave thee and our native soil to go into the cold and cruel world 
which we have heard of? 

The old manmer {colored ivomaii) Clarinda {enters). Way you 
gwine, missy ; not leff ole Virginny. 'Tis bad luck to leff Virgnmy ; 



b THE GKKAT HOUSE. 

stay wid vtr inauiiiLr, \vc will tak' care ob you. I got 'nougli sons 
to work for deir little missy, tor I don't trust dat clerk, nor dal 
lawyer Fox, him too like he name. Nor dat high judge, him 'ceil- 
ful (co//n'iii^ close to t/wiii). Missy, dey talk too sweet, dey too lovin'. 
My Simbo what drib de carriage dab, him tell me how dey talk, 
an' I say den, too much honey. Dey say too much; (Kin't trust 'em, 
my chillen, don't trust 'em. 

Marie. Maumer, 1 don't want to go. Aunt Ellen is very kind, 
but I have an exceeding dread of leaving our home. Here the very 
oaks which have sheltered us from infancy are dear to us ; here 
everything loves us. I have a terror of leaving our home which 
seems a presentiment. 

Charles. Sister, do not say so. All that is great and all that is 
heroic lies in the great world which we have never known. I long 
to behold the city. 1 want to see mankind and life. Do not fear 
anything, sister ; I shall be with you ; I will take care of you. {IV/i/Ie 
speaking Charles draws himself up as tall as^ possible, and walks 
with a proud and manly air). Throw away this fearfulness; we 
were to go lo the clerk's olhce to-day. Come and get ready. 

{^Exeuiit. 

SCENE III. — Office of Clerk of Court. Clerk and lawyer Fox 
present. Clerk seated at a ladle.* Fox walking up and down. 

Fox. We are safe now, all legal Ibrms have been complied with, 
and you have administered. 

Clerk. All is well so far, but I can't see what has come over the 
Judge ; he really is not safe to deal with in this matter any longer. 

Fox. He is getting unlit for his position ; he is too faint-hearted ; 
he gives way to dreams and visions. 

Clerk. I had to appoint a day for them to come again, when 1 
knew that he would be absent. 1 think he may do very well if he 
don't see the girl; let him see the money only. 

Fox. My idea is to get up another claimant, make out a case, 
and pretend to litigate it. All that tune the money can be bringing 
us in twenty per cent. The law allows us to keej) it, now we've 
got it. 

Clerk. And without interest; that is very kind ot the law. 

Fox. Truly benevolent. We have the power now, and we will 
sell off evervthing. 

Clerk. The orphans will cry. 

Fox. Let them do so, we will leave them their tears and time to 
weep. 

Enter Marie ^//;// Charles. 

Fox {meets them and bows). Good-morning, my young friends. 
Clerk {shaking /lands). Happy to see you ; always welcome, my 



* The original from whom this portrait is talien, is lame ; one foot hangs 
useless. He moves little, then with crutches. The manager can carry out this 
likeness as a novelty or not, as he may choose. 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 9 

children. Come always to me " when trials assail or dangers 
affright," but there are no troubles yet, I hope. 

Marie. Only our aunt has written from New York to desire us 
to come to her, and I do not wish to go. 

Fox {aside). Convenient to us, out of our way. {Aloud). What 
an advantage it would be to you to acquire city ways and manners ; 
to lose that air of rusticity, and acquire a high polish and style. 

Clerk. I am told that the ladies in New York have manners of 
such perfection that when they say one thing, you may be quite 
sure that they mean another. 

Fox. How much better than that countrified way of speaking 
your mind right out. 

Clerk. I have heard that the fashion there is only to speak 
smooth things ; never to say that any one has cheated, for instance, 
but simply that a gentleman had occasion for money. 

Fox. What a delightful place to live in. 

Clerk. Do not lose such a benefit, my dear young lady; the 
uncertainties of this life are so great. 

Marie. We will consider of it; in the meantime we need some 
mouey for household expenses, and that brother may continue at 
school. 

Clerk. That's another thing altogether; we can not pay out 
money until an estate is settled. 

Fox. How sudden you are, Miss Marie. Other things have in- 
tervened. Accounts have been sent in. Another clairnant has 
appeared. 

Marie. But you must have expected to make some provision for 
us. 

Clerk. We can not bring sentiment into business, though we 
regard you both as our own children. 

Charles. You promised to consider this money as a sacred 
trust ; to fulfil my mother's wishes. 

Cuerk. Those were only promises — only words. 

Bystander {aside). Onlv the bait until you walked into the trap. 

Fox. We will have a sale of houses, farms, furniture, etc , and 
keep everything in our own hands until we receive the decision of 
the law, which is impartial. 

Bystander {aside). Leaving the poor children to do without, 
and the rich lawyer to makq the interest. The impartial operation 
of the law is that the poor shall be poorer and the rich shall be 
richer. 

Marie. We do not wish to have a sale of our dear mother's 
houses and furniture ; she told us to keep tiiem. 

Clerk. We can not tell, my dear young lady, to whom the law 
will assign the personal property of your lamented parent, nor in- 
deed whether you will have anything to do with the estate. 

Marie. You promised to deal faithfully with us, to save us from 
the snares and deceits of the world, and to care for us as a father. 

Fox, Could we know that another claimant was to appear? 



lO THE GREAT HOUSE. 

Clerk. It is no use for you to talk ; what can you do against 
us ? ( To Charles) Just take your sister home. 

Charles. I pron)ise both of you a day of reckoning when I am 
a man. Sister, come now, let us take time to think. 

{Exctoit Charles and Marie. 

Fox. What fools these women are. When we can make twenty 
per cent, on that money, she thinks we are to hand it over to her. 

Clerk. And we really do not know whose it is, or to whom the 
law will assign it. 

Fox. And in the meantime it is ours. 

Clerk. Until a decision is rendered, and the majestic progress 
of the law requires time. 

Curtain. 

SCENE IV. — Pa7lor hi the Virginia home. Charles and 
Marie present. 

Charles. Sister, let us go to our aunt, she will love and care 
for us. Here we are dependent on these cruel men and they are 
so hard upon us. 

Marie. That Clerk of Court, who promised to be a father to us, 
refused even the money for household expenses. 

Charles. And says he don't know whether we have any con- 
cern with our mother's proj^erty. 

Marie. What do you think of this other claimant ? 

Charles. I do not believe that there is any ; I think these men 
are trying to take everything we have. 

Enters Clarinda. 

Clarinda. Missy, dar is strange men walkin' all rouii', looking 
at ebrything and marking down on paper. What is dat fur.'' Is 
dey gwine to tak all missis' tings ? 

Marie. Ah ! Maumf r, 1 fear that they have deceived us and are 
going to take our home from us. 

Clarinda. Oh ! my chillen, I mistrusted dose men all de time 
(^icringing her hands and gesticulating — walking about). But 
what dey tief from us will nebber stay wid 'em. It will not profit 
'em. You 'member, missy, when mybrudder Jim died. His massa 
had gib him a cabin and an acre ob Ian', and he mak' him a full 
title to it. Dat cabin was close jinin to dis high Judge Ian'. He 
come da while poo' Jim was lyin' dead an' cold, an' he ax to see 
dat title deed. Dey showed it to him an' he took it away ; he got 
dat Ian' sold, he turned out de tamly, an' he bought it for noffin — nof- 
fin, you might say. De night dat widow leff de house which was 
her own rightful home, what dey took from her, we all gathered an' 
we walked roun' de Judge Ian', an' we cussed him at ebry corner, 
an' we prayed de Lord to tak' notice ob him. An' dat man is lib- 
bin to tak' our Ian' an' our home too, but oh ! my chillen, if he 



THE GREAT HOUSE. II 

•gwine to tak' dis Ian' too, an' dis house too, we will walk roun' him 
agerlT and we will cuss him agen, an' de Lord will some time 
hearken to de cry ob de poor. 

Marie {looks' shocked, rises and takes Clarinda'S hand). Oh ! 
maumer, don't you know we should forgive.' 

Clarinda. Missy, dat do berry well for you — you always was 
a good chile — but for me — I am not good. I is got Ingen blood 
in me and I will cuss dem ; don't talk to me about dem men, Miss 
Marie — I boun to cuss dem. (Sobs, luringing of hands and gestic- 
ulations here take place, the?! her mood changes). What )'ou 
gwine to do, Miss Marie ? 

Marie. Brother thinks that we should go to Aunt Ellen, she has 
written for us. 

Clarinda. Oh! Missy, listen to your ole maumer what nussed 
you and your moder before you ; don't leff your home, nor Virginny, 
nor vour only friends — yes, my chillen — M'as Charley hearken what 
I say— dere is upsides down in dis world, an' we dat was under 
your feet if you had choose to put us dere — we is now your friends 
and your parents an' guardians an' faitful servants all in one. Don't 
let 'em hab dis house, stay in it. My Jem an' my Caesar an' all'bb 
'em — dey will work out and bring in wages for you bofe to lib on. 
All we will stay wid vou and sarbe you — only you stay wiu us. 

Marie. My dear ole maumer, we thank you — we value your love. 

Enter boy loitJi a letter. 
Marie (opens it — reads). 

"Mv Dear Children: — I enclose fifty dollars for travelling 
expenses ; come to us. Do not stay to get dresses or make prepara- 
tions. My heart and mv house are yours. It will be my pleasure to 
provide everything required, only come and come at once. Love 
from your uncle. .Affectionately, Ellen Blount." 

Charles. Maumer, vour heart is good and kind, we will never 
forg-et you ; but can't you see that Aunt Ellen is more able to keep 
us than you are ? 

Clarinda. Wid all ie say, I mighty 'fraid 'bout dat Miss Ellen. 
Your dear modcr, when ie talk swc-et words, ie eyes look right at 
you an' dey look same as what ie speak, but Miss Ellen not look at 
you an' ie eyes look cold an' ha'ad when ie talk fair. I 'member 
when one day Missis was sick, she say, " Ellie dear, stay wid me 
an', sing to me." "Oh! I want to walk out," say Miss Ellen. 
"Well, dear, do as you like," say Missis. So Miss Ellen ie dress up 
ieself an' gone to walk out on de lawn to see Mr. Blount, what 
was den a flyin' roun' 'em. Where ie done gone, I say lo Missis, 
" I tink Miss Ellen might bin stay wid you, wid all you eberlastin' 
geein' 'em an' doin' fur 'em." Missis say, " I rader Ellie feel free to 
do jest as she likes, I don't want l"or um to feel boun' to anythin'." 
Dat de way missis alway do. Your moder lobe ebrybody ah' 



12 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

ebrything, but Miss Ellie, ie lobe nuffin but ieself. And now- I tell 
you, missy, don't mind all dat hoi.ey, mnid your ole maumer an' stay 
right here wid us. [ZfavV. 

Charles. I do not like such talk from maumer. 

Marie. She is faithful and she means well. I too dread going. 
It seems a forewarning of some evil. We are despoiled and dis- 
inherited by those men. I know not what to do. 

Rc-i?itcr Clarinda. 

Clarinda. To see my missis' chillen go strangers into a far 
country — I don't know way it is — oh I stay wid yer old friens' an' 
sarvants, missy. [Exit. 

Charles, bister, do not give way to fearfulness ; who ever would 
have effected anything if they gave way so — if they were afraid of 
everything. I am nearly a man {j-aising himself as tall as possible 
and ivalkijig about), I can take care of you, and how kindly Aunt 
Ellen writes. Above all, sister, it is the only thing we can do — we 
have no other resource. 

* ( Tliey weep together?) 

Curtain. 



ACT II. 



SCENE \.—A parlor in New York City. Mr. Blount, a thin, 
wiry, cross-looking man. Mrs. Blount, a handsome, mid- 
dle-aged lady in fashionable black. Makie and CHARLES, 
■ looking rather shabby. 0?i the floor are two wide, low bas- 
kets, fitted with S7nall cushions, each containing the figures of 
a cat and kittefis. While speakitig, Mrs. Blount has a kit- 
tc)! in her arms, caressing it and letting it crawl about her 
shoi/ldtrs. An occasional interjection addressed to the kitten 
is intermixed with her other discourse. 

Mrs. B. So your mother's propert) did not turn out as you ex- 
pected } 

Marie. They refused to pay us any money, and said that there 
was another claimant. 

Mrs. B. How can that be.? 

Charles. There were the Probate Judge, the Clerk of Court, 
and Lawyer Fox; they said they could not tell who anything be- 
longed to, and that it was against the law to pay us anything for a 
year. 

Mrs. B. Well, I can tell you that when Probate Judges and 
Clerks of Court get an estate into their hands they are very apt to 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 13 

inherit it themselves. Oh, Dora {to the kitten), darling little Dora ! 
You need not expect to get much from them, and the sooner you 
make up your mind to work, the better for you. 

The orpJians glaJicc at each other and retire. 

\Exeunt Marie rt;/^ Charles. 

Mr. B. {7i'alking np and do-vn). What did you ever bring them 
here for ? 

Mrs. B. I thought they had a good estate, of which we might 
have taken charge, and I wanted a girl to help with housework and 
take the drudgery off my hands. 

Mr. B. It seems we are in a pretty situation now. 

Mrs. B. I told you to go to Virginia and take charge of the 
property. {To the kitten.) Oh, Dora, Dora, don't scratch aunty. 
If you had done as I wished, instead of that Probate Judge inherit- 
ing the estate, we might have had the use of the money and the 
work of the children too. 

Mr. B. Who could ha\'e thought that people down South could 
move quickly ; they were beforehand with us. 

Mrs. B. All we can do now is to set them to work and at least 
get that much benefit from them. 

Mr. B. 1 will see my friend Mr. Screw and some others, and get 
work for Charles ; I suppose you can provide some for Marie. 

Mrs. B. I suppose I can. \^Exit Mr. B. 

A ring at the bell, and a lady enters leading with a ribhojt a very 
small greyhound hm'i/ig an antique merino blanket embroi- 
dered with white silk. 

Mrs. B. {ad-c'aneing to meet her, still caressing the kitten). Good- 
morning; how dear and charming of you to bring Rosette. How 
poetical she is looking with that lovely blanket — a superlative, soul- 
ful-eyed darling ! Oh, dearie, dearie (takes the dog into her arms, 
while the visitor takes the kitten), and look at Julie ; she has three 
of the sweetest kittens — Sophie has four (they turn to the other 
basket), but Julie's are the prettiest. One of them is going to take 
a trip to New- Orleans with a friend of mine — but cats are getting 
old-lashioned ! Now, such a living rhythm as Rosette ; she is Just 
the style — superlative — poetical. 

Enter another lady leading a small Spits dog, having on an em- 
broidered cream-cohved blanket. 

2D Lady. I have brought my Isabelle to see you. 

Mrs. B. Oh, the darling ! this is really a treat — -lovely, spirit- 
uelle, in cream-colored merino — is this embroidery your own 
work ? 

2D Lady. No, indeed ; it is as much as I can do to nurse and 
look after my darling's health ; her feelings are so intense that she 
requires all my care, I employ a kuly who once belonged to our 



14 THE GREAT" HOUSE. 

circle — you remember the Castletons ? — failed some time ago, and 
asked me for work. I t^et Isabelle's blankets embroidered by them. 
They are worth a dollar, but I can not offer them that, our ex- 
penses are such ; tliey are glad to work them at twenty-five cents 
each. 

Enter 3(1 Lady Icadiiii:; a J\//ii^ CJtarlcx spaniel />: an ccs/Jul/c 
red saiin blanket bordered ivit/i lace. All lite ladies make a 
rus/i to meet her. 

Mrs. B. And you have brought Eleonora ! Wliat marvelous 
eyes! what wondrous hair! 

1ST Lady. Look at Mrs. Blount's lovely family {pointini^ to the 
kittens). 

3D Lady. Oh, kittens are entirely passe / My dear friend, why 
do you not get a King Charles ? They alone are now distingue. 
Look at Eleonora ; notice her aesthetic taste and marvelous intelli- 
gence ; she knows chocolate from coffee ; she knows cream from 
custard ; chicken is the only meat that she will touch ; she is aris- 
tocratic in all her tastes. 

Mrs. B. And you choose aesthetic colors for her. 

3D Lady. Her tastes are too utterly utter for decided hues ; in 
general she likes the subdued tints which have come to us from the 
mediaeval ages ; the only positive color which she admires is that 
of the sunflower. 

2D Lady. I shall teach Isabelle the same antique ideas ; I shall 
have her educated in the true cadence of colors, that she may learn 
to choose only those which have the true echo of a by-gone age. 

Mrs. B. But cream-color is in style. 

1ST Lady. I shall try whether Rosette will idealize Persian pink ; 
for myself I must own that 1 like something bright. 

2D Lady. My Isabelle smiles with soulful eyes at me whenever I 
look at her. 

3D Lady. My Eleonora always meets me with her intense feel- 
ings in her eyes when I return home. 

1ST Lady. My Rosette can drink tea out of my cup. 

Mrs. B. Sophie let me handle her kittens the very first day that 
they appeared, though her feelings are superlatively maternal ; and 
Julie never has her cultured mind at ease unless I have caressed 
hers. The darlings ! how sweet and affectionate they always are ! 

1ST Lady. No crying nor pouting about them. 

2D Lady. Nor howling and getting sick like infants. 

During the co7i7<ersatio7i, the door hai'ing been left open, a ragged 
Boy of seven years, leading a girl of four, have stolen timid- 
ly into the room. 

Boy. Ladies, we are left alone in the street ; mother was run 
over and hurt ; they took her to the hospital and left us helpless, as 
you see. A crust of bread only for this little one, please, ma'am — 
oh, please ! 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 15 

Mrs. B. Half my time is taken up in driving- away tramps {gets 
tip and stamps her foot at thou). Horrid creatures, all in rags — 
how did they get in ? 

Cliildren kneel. 

Boy. a piece of bread — oh, lady, a piece of bread only ! 

Mr.S. B. I don't believe a word you say. Go to the station ; tell 
the police, but don't take up my parlor with your rags and dirt ; 
how dare you come into it — go (stamps her foot) ! 

\Exeunt Children. 

isr Lady. How can the creatures presume so? 

Mrs. B. Into my very parlor ! 

3D Lady. What are the police doing to allow such people 
about ? 

2D Lady. It is a settled principle of mine never to give to 
beggars. 

1ST Lady. We are told by the jjapers never to do so. For my 
part, I wash my hands of them. 

3D Lady. Let us go now and give our darlings an airing in the 
Park. 

IVith boius, eonrtesics, hitndshak/ngs, stro/:/ngs of the dogs, etc., 
exeunt visitors. Mrs. B. throws open a door, and the kitchen 
is disclosed to view. MARIE is there, a pile of dishes on a 
ladle, dish-pan, etc. 

Tlie talk of the servants is intended to it lust rule I heir own malicious dispo- 
sitions toivard Marie, only because she is poor. 

Mrs. B. Now, Marie, I want you to earn your bread and leave 
off the indolent Southern ways in which you have been brought up. 
After this I shall keep but one servant, that I may be able to keep 
you. Here is an alarm-clock, that you may wake before sunrise ; 
you are to call up Jane, and while she is dressing, to sweep the 
sidewalk ; nobody will know who you are. Tiien you can do the 
marketing and help with the breakfast. Washing the dishes will 
be your special business ; you will have to go to the door — answer- 
ing the bell is enough to occupy one these times. I suppose you 
can do painting enough to clothe yourself and to pay the rent of your 
room. After lunch will come washing the dishes again ; it is 
astonishing what a pile we do have ! In the afternoon you can at- 
tend the bell while Jane takes some rest. I intend to get an Italian 
greyhound ; sometimes Jane will have to go out with me to carry 
it ; when that is the case you will get supper. I would take you, 
but you have nothing fit to wear. Calicoes and lawns might do 
for the wWAs of Virginia, but they will not do for New York. I 
have to give you both a home out of charity, and you should be 
pleased to help all that you can. [Exit. 

Marie {ties on a colored apron, rolls up her sleeves, and puts OJi 
a pair of gloves. She then attempts to Jill the large dish-pan with 
hot zvater. She is not accustomed to a sink, the water spouts ow\ 



l6 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

aut/ scalds her arm. She drops the pan and begins to cry). Oli, if I 
only knew how to please aunt ! {Tries again, succec<is in filling 
the pan, takes the mop in her hand., and begins to wash the dishes ; 
evidently has nez'er done it before?) 

Mrs. B. enters dressed to go out. The contrast should be great be- 
tween her rich silks and plumes and Marie's calico dress. 

Mrs. B. You are enough to try the patience of Job ; gloves on 
to wash dishes ! Take them off in no time {stamping her foot). 
You work and learn to work, or you'll find yourself outside the 
door, I can tell you ; yoyr uncle is complaining now of the expense 
he is at. Here am I giving you a home and doing all I can for 
you, and you putting on gloves to wash dishes— you ungrateful, 
idle, trilling piece ; putting on gloves to wash dishes. 

Marie (turns and faces Mrs. B.) I entered this house as your 
niece. I am here by invitation as your guest ; you treat me as a 
dependent ; you reduce me to the condition of a servant. I had 
rather work even thus, than feel indebted to you ; but where is your 
laith, honor, and feeling, that you can act thus by me.? 

Mrs. B. Airs and graces indeed {in a mocking tone). Lady Marie, 
attend the bell, and have those dishes done when I come in. [Exit. 

SCENE II. — A large dry-goods house. Mr. Screw, a tall, 
pompous, portly man at a desk. Enter Charles. Presents 
a note. 

Mr. Screw {looking at it). From my friend Mr. Blount. So 
you wish to enter our service. We are one of the oldest firms in 
New York. The stars and stripes have had the honor to float over 
our house for many years past. All the monarchs of Europe would 
be pleased and proud to have their sons enter our service for a 
time {cualking up and down, with very pompous air and jnanner. 
Charles looks perfectly overwhelmed). For a time — to learn 
business habits — to be trained in the solemn mysteries of our dis- 
tinguished and highly-honored vocation — to amass princely for- 
tunes, wrung by the shilling from the need of the poor. Ha ! no — 
what was I saying.'* Honestly amassed by princely toil. No, 
hang it ! that's not it. Princely fortunes amassed by honest toil — 
that's it. Yes, my son {patting Charles on the shoulder). Yes, 
my son ; I place you on the high-road to a ]>rincely fortune amassed 
by honorable toil — that's it, now ! to represent a name held in 
honor and revered in the palaces of the most ancient monarchs of 
modern times. 

Charles hnvs in assent. 

Mr. Screw {continues). I enroll you, my son, under the shadow 
of our distinguished name. Henceforth let it ever be present to 
your mind that you represent our house — 1 should say, our palace ; 
our marble palace. Yor compensation, sir — though we might well 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 1 7 

say that the honor ot -sewing' us, and of bt-ing- called by our name 
is abundantly suflicient — yet, because we do not wish any one to 
serve us for naught, and because of the tender care and generosity 
which our magnanimous house ever shows towards its employes, 
we will give you two dollars a week. {A'lsumes his. place at the 
desk) [Charles bows. Exit. 

SCENE III. — Another part of same floor. Seifcrcil young men 
are standing- together near a window, CHARLES among them. 
The windoiu should be large, and so arranged that the au- 
dience can see through it into the street. Several large boxes 
and packing cases conceal the young men from the sight of 
Mr. Screw and other authorities. 

George Hill (who is bent, thin, partly bald, and prematurely 
old, is speaking"). My father died eight years ago, and I entered 
this house to support mother and the children. At first I had to 
work hard from morning till night for two dollars a week. Now I 
am skilled and ca[)able. Others receive a thousand dollars a year 
for the same services as mine, but they know that I can not help 
myself, so they only give me eight dollars a week. If I left them 
and was two weeks getting another place, we would starve; it 
would break us up, for we live every week just on the wages of the 
Uist. I am [)rematurely aged and bald from close confinenient and 
hard work, but I have no hope of a change, and so it goes on with 
us year after year, 

Caldwell (amither yoiaig man, to Charles). You do not 
know, poor child, what you have to come to. This house has a 
great name and a European reputation. They always have money 
to head popular subscription-lists, but they consider it business to 
starve their employes. What do you get.'' 
Charles. Two dollars a week. 

Caldwell. They know that you can not get board for less than 
six dollars, and you have to wear clothes. How are you to live ? 

Charles. I stay w-ith my aunt, and we have money coming to 
us. 

Caldwell. Money coming to him ! {General laugh). Who's 
got it ? 

Charles. The Probate Judge and Clerk of Court. {General 
laugh of derision). 

Caldwell W^ell. my darling little innocent, don't look for it — 
don't expect if. The delight of those men is to get the money of 
widows and orphans into their hands, and everything that thev 
touch sticks to their fingers. My father died ten years ago and left 
property'. The Clerk of Court administered and died. Perhaps his 
children inherited ; we never could recover it. Between them and 
this house you will find yourself ground like corn between the mill- 
stones. 

Brown {another of i lie young men). You have hit the idea, that's 



l8 ' THE GREAT HOUSE. 

just it; when I get out of a Sunday and only see this place, it seems 
to give me fits. I feel sick at the very sight of it. 

Jones. Sometimes when I get off in the evening I count the de- 
livery wagons drawn u)) in line, generally from thirty-seven to forty, 
and I say to myself, " Oh ! when they are doing such a business, 
could they not give a poor fellow enough to pay his board ? If they 
would only have done that, my poor mother would have been with 
me (7i//pes his eyes), and perhaps she would have been here now. 

Mrs. ArmitaGE {from the s/rtrt in a sorrmvfiil cry ; a wailing 
tone as she passed the winchmi, clothed in black, and wringing her 

hands). Give back my child. Oh ! give Oh ! give me back 

my child {passes on out of sight). 
Charles. Who is that ? 

Caldwell. That is the mother of a young fellow who was killed 
here. 

Charles. Killed here? 

Caldwell. Only by overwork and starvation, not by knife or 
pistol. 

Jones. Only oz'ertvork f only starvation ! 

Mrs. Armitage {repasses the windoiv). Oh ! cruel and beauti- 
ful marble palace, which lurest men into thy toils like some Circe of 
old ! Give back my child ; give back the lives which thou hast de- 
stroyed ; give back my child ; give back give back life and 

hope and youth to those whom thou hast rendered prematurely old ; 
give back my child {passes on out of sight). 

{Looks of horror and astonishment on the faces of ail the young 
men, CHARLES especially). 

Charles. How long ago was this ? 
. Jones. About five or six months since. 

Charles. Tell me about it. 

Caldwell. He and his mother, a widow — he was her only chdd 
— came to this city. The poor fellow thought if he could get in here 
he was sure of a fortune. Screw tells that to every one in turn, he 
was expected to live on two dollars a week, and work hard. The 
mother came here once or twice to get work. I heard Screw offer her 
handkerchiefs to paint at a dollar a dozen, and satin fans at twenty- 
five cents apiece. I have been told that she came here and begged 
Squeeze to give her son enough to board him. She said if they 
would do that, she could stay with him. They refused, and she had 
to leave him, and go back to the country. Poor George thought he 
could stand it, and that he would conquer Fortune for himself and 
for her, so he got a corner in a loft somewhere to sleep, and had 
next to nothing to eat. When he did go back to his mother, it was 
too late. Even then they refused him leave of absence, and he had 
to resign. People can't live on nothing, and 'tis a dangerous thing 
trying it. 

Mrs. Armitage {repasses the window, crying). My child ! my 
child ! Give back my child. 



• THE GREAT HOUSE. J9 

Jones. How do they like that.> 

Caldwell. I have heard it whispered that they are going to 
have her placed in a lunatic asylum. 

George Hill. Then they will have it' put in the papers that they 
take charge of the families of their deceased employes. 

Caldwell. And call upon the city to applaud their liberality. 
Let's see; T could write them up a paragraph myself. It should 
run like this : " Liberality of the Great House. Not only does our 
esteemed contemporary, successor to the Merchant Prince, take 
charge of his faithful servants during sickness, but even of their 
families when deceased. A junior salesman, the son of a widow, 
having recently departed this life, the House has voluntarily secured 
to his mother a comfortable mamtenance for life." 

Jones. I suppose they won't say where.' 

Caldwell. Nor that they did it for their own sakes. 

Mrs. ArjmiI'AGE [repasses, crying). Oh ! cruel and beautiful mar- 
ble palace, which lurest men into thy toils like some Circe of old ; 
thou didst lure my Georgy from me. (iive back my child, my only 
one ; my only boy. Often have I waited for him here, and he came ; 
yes, he came at last. Oh ! Georgy, come now to thy mother. I 
liave waited long {passes out of sight). 

Charles. Why do you — any of you, stay here.-' 

George Hill. How can we help ourselves.'' Those who can 
stand the drill here can get in elsewhere. Other merchants think 
that those who can please them can j)lease anybody. 

Caldwell. We are all like moths around a candle. Each one 
thinks that he will get some shining prize if only he keeps on. The 
European buyers get $10,000 a year, the heads of department get 
more. 

Jones. But they have a way of sending men off just when they 
can't avoid giving them a salary. One may work eight or ten yeaVs, 
and think that they can not but increase his salary, when some 
morning he receives information that he is not wanted any longer ; 
their policy is to get the work done by beginners, who will do it for 
almost nothing. 

Enter Marie. Charles ,i,'y;<-.s- to meet her, the others itispeise. 

Marie. Oh ! brother, I am turned out ; my trunk is taken, and 
I am put outside (s/ie throws her arms round Charles' neck, and 
they zvecp together). 

CHhKhY.ii {extricati/ig hi/nself). How can that be? You were 
working for aunt all the time. 

Marie. She only gave me boartl for my work, and required me 
to pay the room rent myself. I had no money, so Mrs. Closefist 
took my trunk, and told nie to go. 

Charles. When was this.? 

Marie. Just now ; this morning. 

Charles. What did aunt say } 



20 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

Marik. She said she was gohig into the country, and could not 
be troubled ; that I would not work, and I might sutler for it. 

Charles. But you did work? 

Marie {weeping). Yes, 1 did; indeed I did; my hands are blis- 
tered ; see {holds out Iicr hands ; shcnus t/tat they tiave been bleed- 

Charles. Oh ! sister, I don't mind about myself, I think only 
of you ; when I am bending over my work, I say to myself, " I can 
go and be a ragpicker, but what is she to do ? ( They weep together. 
Ch.'VRLES takes a few s>naU coins out of his pocket, and gives them 
to her). Sister, here is all the money 1 have; do you remember that 
arbor in Central Park, which we saw when we tirst came here .-* 

Marie. Yes, dearie. 

Charles. You go there, anti 1 will come to you. I will see aunt 
first, and then come. 

Marie (takes a few steps and t lien returns). Brother, do not fear 
for me. She said to me, " Let Goil help you now ; see if He will 
provide for you." 

Charles. And you ? 

Marie. I said I am not afraid to trust Him ; and even so. He 
will provide, be not troubled lor me. {They-enibrace and'part). 

[Exit Marie. 
Enter Mrs. Screw. 

How is this, sir ! What is the meaning of this ? Who has been 
here .'' 

Charles. My darling sister. 

Mrs. Screw. Your darling sister ? You express feelings to me, 
sir ! What right have you to have feelings } You have been cry- 
ing ; what do you mean by it.'' No feelings, sir; no business, sir; 
no interest, sir. You should know nothmg when once you have 
entered these doors, but our interest. We have bought you, sir, 
soul and body. 

Charles {aside). If 1 were theii' bought slave and worth $i,ooo 
to them, they would care something about me. 



SCENE IV.— Mrs. Blount's parlor. Mrs. B. and Charles 

seated. 

Charles. Aunt, you invited us here ; \\o\\ can you let Marie be 
turned out ? 

Mrs. B. Marie don't seem as if she ever would earn anything for 
herself. I would have boarded her for her work, but, if I have to 
pay room rent and clothe her, 1 liad just as well g"et a servant regu- 
larly trained who can do four times the' work. 

Charles. Made is your guest and your sister's child. 

Mrs. B. Mr. Blount and I worked hard for what we have, and 
she may ^vork, too, or leave us. Mrs. Ciosetist called for her room- 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 21 

rent. 1 told Marie at first that she had to earn money and pay that 
herself. 

Charles. But how could she earn money.'' 

Mrs. B. I engaged work for her ; she was to paait the cards for 
a state dinner. I took them myself to Mr. Ride-over-the-poor, 
and he rejected them altogether. He said he could get cards 
handsomely painted for a dollar a dozen, and he would not give 
anything- for hers. 

Charles. You said he had engaged them. 

Mrs. B. He rejected them — exposed me to the mortification after 
I had engaged them of having them rejected. T/iink of my feel- 
ings ! When I came home Mrs. Closefist was just taking her 
trunk. I told her not to trouble me about it for I was going into 
the country. (Charles ivccps.) It is different with you. Mr. 
Screw told me that you are doing well. He complimented me on 
your account. I think it worth while to risk money on you ; don't 
trouble yourself about her, you can get along. 

Charles. Excuse me, aunt ; I will never give up my sister. 
Where she is I will be, and her portion shall be mine. I will go 
now to find her. {Rises while speaking and takes his hat.) 

Mrs. B. Tell her not to dare ring the bell here; Mr. Blount has 
taken one of his fearful dislikes to her. If ever she wants to see 
you, she can walk on the Square until you come out, but not dare 
ring the bell, for if Mr. Blount sees her, he will give her such a 
scare and such a cursing as I do not wish to take place in the hear- 
ing of the other lodgers. 

Charles. We have property ; we will have money to ])ay you ; 
I will give my whole share to have Marie taken care of now. 

Mrs. B. That Probate Judge and that Clerk have your money. I 
don'tbelieve you will ever get a cent, and we don't care to be troub- 
led with her. 

Charles. Why did you invite her here and urge her to come ? 

Mrs. B. I thought she would take the chief trouble of house- 
keeping off my hands, and I thought you would, of course, have 
money. • ^Exit CHARLES, weeping. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I. — An arbor in Central Park. Marie alone. Dim 
fornr, of angels are tu'sible, the form of her mother among 
them. Marie is looking tip as though praying, her hands 
clasped. 

Marie. I am not alone ; I know that angels are encamped 
around me. Mother — mother — art thou near me? Dost thou be- 
hold thy child, so tenderly guarded and fondly loved, now aban- 
doned in this great city } Let me recall the words that once we 
sang together. (Sings.) 



2 2 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

Daughter dear, 
Daughter fair, 
Peace to thy heart. 

Gentle child. 
Fair and mild, 
Act too tiiy part. 

Care thou not. 
Fear thou not, 
God shall provide. 

Fatherless, 
Motherless, 
He is thy guide. 

(Speaks.) Yet, alas, I am but human ! The other day it seems 
to me that I was a child. I gathered wild flowers and violets from 
the wood, and played around my mother's knee. Now I am six- 
teen — only sixteen — and the trials of life have come upon me. 
And I am human — prisoned in the body. I am chill and faint and 
hungry. I can not commune with the spirits which surround me, 
but I know that they are near. I am sorrowful, but 1 fear not. 

Etitcr Charles. Tliey embrace. The dim forms of a)igeh re- 
cede. CnxKl^v.'S, gives her bread and tnilk. S.iys : 

Sister, you must be fainting ; you are so pale. Were you 
afraid ? 

Marie. No, brother ; 1 know that angels watch over me, and 
you are here. 

Charles. Always ; I will come to you every night ; we can stay 
in this arbor in warm weather, and God will take care of us. 

Marie. I know that He will ; what did aunt say } 

Charles. She said she was mortified because Mr. Ride-over- 
the-poor rejected your cards. She did not think of your feelings, 
but only that she was mortified. 

Marie. How can people become so selfish ? 

Charles. She told me that I had better not concern myself 
about you ; that I could get on ; that I had pleased the Great 
House, and that she would risk money on me. 

Marie. Risk money on you .f" 

Charles. She meant that /could make money, a.nd that you 
co\i\<\ 11 oL She said you were not to dare ring the bell if you 
wanted to see me ; that uncle would curse and scare you ii you 
came into his sight. 

Marie (weepi/ig). Oh, what have I done that I can not ring the 
bell at my own aunt's door — that my uncle will curse and scare 
me if I come into his sight. Oh, what have I done? 

Charles. You have failed to make money, that is what you 
have done. 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 2^ 

Marie. How shall I see you, brother ? 

Charles. Rap three times on the glass beside the front-door ; 
then walk on the Square and I will join you. 

Marie. And aunt is our own mother's sister, 

Charles. And after grandmamma's death our mother sheltered 
and provided for her. 

Marie. And gave her love and welcome, which was more than 
all else. 

Charles. Don't you think God will remember that Probate 
Judge who promised to consider our money a sacred trust, and 
that Clerk of Court who said he would be our father.'' 

Marie. Dear, evil will enter our hearts if we speak against 
them ; let us pray GocTto forgive them and take care of us, for it is 
time now to try and sleep ; you will have to rise early, and have a 
long day's work before you. 

Charles. I suppose I must go to work, but I wish I could stay 
all the time with you. 

Marie. Let us pray now. {They kneel. Tivo of the angels, 
one 'he tnother, draw near and listen, pointing upward as though 
^j7iveying the prayer.) ' Oh, Father of the fatherless ! Thou seest 
that we are strangers in a strange land, despoiled and abandoned 
by all who shoukl have cared for us ; our mother trusted in Thee 
{the mother's spirit elasps her hands and looks up to hcave7i) ; do 
Thou give to us sleep and be our refuge forever, for the dear Lord's 
sake. Amen. 

Then '^'i^''- Marie siU upon the hencli and leans her head 
(ifjahisf the corner. Charles lies at lenf/fJi upon the seat, 
his head in her lap. The forms of the angels draio near 
and surround them. They sleep. 

Enter a Park Policeman. 

W|iat have we here ? These children are from the country, 
poor souls ; here is some great trouble. [Exit. 

The angels recede a little. Re-enter same Policeman nuth an- 
other. 

2D Policeman. Poor girl ! That boy must be her brother. 
What shall we do ? {They Join tiro or three other Parh police- 
men at a little distance.) 

1ST Policeman. I will take them home to my wife ; she's the 
kindest crathur that jver came from the ould counthry ; she will 
keep them until we can get them a place. 

2D Policeman. We'll throw in and get a carriage for them, 
poor dears ! 

3D Policeman. Agreed. {They all put money in a hat.) 

isr Policeman {goes near to make them). Children, my dears, 
wake up. (Marie a)t,d Charles aioake frightened, ding to 
each other, look at the policemen with terror, } 



24 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

1ST Policeman {bowti, tal-es off his hat). How came you here, 
children ? 

Charles (rises (Did fdces them). My sister liad no liome — no- 
where else to sleep. 

1ST Policeman. Where are )ou from ? 

Charles. From Virtjinia. 

1ST Policeman. How did \ou liappcn lo come to New York 
City ? 

Charles. Our mother died and our relations sent for us. 

1ST Policeman. You are orphans .> 

Charles. Yes, and they have taken Marie's trunk. 

Marie (comes forimird). We thought we would lie in this 
little arbor and brother would bring me food every day. Please let 
us stay here. 

1ST Policeman (jr/pes h/'.s eyes, goes to confer iritli the others, 
returns). My little dears, 1 have a good, kind wife — a darling 
sowl of a crathur — I will take you to her, and I will get your trunk 
for you, too. 

Charles. If she had her trunk, there are silver cups, gold 
bracelets, and such things in it, which we could sell. 

Marie. They were mamma's. 

Charles. Mamma would wish us to sell them if she could see 
us now. 

(Uirr'uKje oj q >ea is. 

1ST Policeman. Come with me, children. (Hands them into 
it. gt^ts on tJie ho.r.) 

Carriage drircs a/rag. The angels disajyj^ear. 

2D Policeman. Now, aint it strange. If our captain saw 
that fellow go off his beat with them babes, the stranger. and the 
fatherless, he would fine him and maybe discharge him ; bu^il he 
had clubbed 'em over the heatl and taken 'em to the station-house, 
'twould have been all right. 

3D Policeman. That's the difference between divine law and 
human law. 

4TH Policeman. Think Heaven looks on such babes an' them 
as turned 'em out. 

3D Policeman. Guess sure as there be a God he do. 

Re-enter 1ST Policeman, 

2D Policeman. Did you take them children home ? 

I. ST Policeman. That I did. 

3D Policeman. Did yer wife tak' to 'em ? 

1ST Policeman. She gathered that gal in her arms and kissed 
her like she was her darter and she hadn't seen her in a long time. 

3D Policeman. That's good ; now we'll throw in agen for 'em. 
(Th.ey 2>fit money into o hat.) 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 25 

1ST Policeman. The boy was not turned out ; he has a place ; 
they turned out the gal only. 

4TH Policeman. That's worse nor all. What did they do it 
for ? 

1ST Policeman. It's beyant me to know why people does sech 
things, but them little 'dears told me not to say as they had any 
folks — that they was high people in Virginia, an' they wouldn't 
talk agin 'em— jist to say they was poor and not nothin' else. 

3D Policeman. We'll get their trunk for 'em in the morning. 

4TH Policeman. Yes, an' when they need it agen, we'll throw 
in agen, 

Curtain. 



SCENE 11.—^ cr// in the Tombs. GEORGE HiLL lying on a 
pallet — pale and emaciated. 

Enter Frank Stuyvesant. 
Frank S. Well, my friend, how are you? 

HiLL rises and seats Jtimself ; FRANK S. sits beside him. 

HiLL. I would I were gone and done with it. When a man of- 
fends our house, he had better be dead. 

Frank S. Oh, my dear fellow, none of that — none of that. 
We'll see you a rising man yet. 

Hill. That is what old Screw tells every one who comes in. 
One in five hundred maybe does rise, and that one they'll crush if 
they can. 

Frank S. "Don't give up the ship." Let's hear how it was. 

Hill. I was cashier at eight dollars a week. Money passed 
through my hands all the time, while I suffered the tortures of pov- 
erty and want. At last I gave way— I did steal it. Think how 
manhood is dishonored by having to crawl and cringe as I have 
been forced to do. I was required to lie, when it was for their in- 
terest and suited them, for eight dollars a week. How could I have 
any shame or any manhood left ? Yet it was not for myself — I am 
all the support of my widowed mother and the children. It was 
for my sister — my mother's last little baby— that I did it. She was 
sick ; no money was left in the house to get coal or medicine or 
food. Mother asked me to get an advance — to ask Screw for an 
advance. Fancy it ! Screw considers it an offence to have any 
feelings or any relations. I took the advance myself and meant to 
return it. They must have been watching me. Perhaps they saw 
my wretched looks, divined that I was starving, and set a trap for 
me. They wanted an example, they said. I suppose they'll have 
one. Mother and the children must be starving while I am here, 
and I might as well go too {rising, wringing his hands in despair). 
I don't want ever to get out — I am a felon. I am not fit to speak 
to you — ^just let me perish. 



26 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

E/i/tr JVDGE Tryon, /u\it/ of the great house, and Mr. ROUND- 
ABOUT. 

Judge T. (aside). A lawyer here ! Every rogue now who de- 
sires to cheat the gallows can get up a lawyer to help him. 

The two lawyers boiu cere)noniously to each other. Roundabout 
introduces FRANK S. to Judge T. Hill at entrance of 
Judge T. has thraiun himself in an attitude of despair upon 
the pallet. 

Judge T. {to Frank S.). You surely do not intend to take up 
the cause of that self-convicted felon and help him to steal the 
property of honest men } 

Frank S. I am here, sir, to do my best for my unfortunate cli- 
ent, and indeed I feel deeply for him. 

Judge T. Can he pay you any money? 

Frank S. Probably not, but I hope that you will have some 
mercy upon him. 

Judge T. {ironically). I have mercy.'' 

Frank S. I trust that when you hear the circumstances j'ou will 
do so. 

Judge T. I refuse even to listen to you. 

Roundabout. Sir, remember you hav^e been a lawyer. It is 
our duty to listen. The law condemns no man unheard. Our 
rules are always to hear what our opponents have to say. {Aside) 
That is the way to trip them up — hear what they have to say. 

Judge T. As my legal adviser says that I should listen to your 
statement, I reconsider my determination and consent to do so. 

Frank S. Though my client may have been faulty toward your 
house, yet allow me to say that he is the only hope and support of 
a widowed mother and her young children. They are starving 
while he is here. Would it not be a magnanimous and nohle ac- 
tion to continue to them the small weekly sum which was their 
only support while he is confined here — at least until he is proved 
guilty? They are innocent, and what is eight dollars a week to 
you ? 

Judge T. {choking with indignation). Pay people to steal from 
me — pay people to rob me! Never — let them starve! (To 
Roundabout). Is this fellow — this consort and companion of 
thieves and felons — really a member of the bar ? 

Roundabout. Certainly, and a young man of high standing. 
Sir, you are going too lar. Don't commit yourself. Never, never, 
my dear sir — never, never commit yourself. 

Judge T. Commit myself, indeed ! I will commit myself ten 
times oyer if I choose. I tell you, sir, I will commit myself. You 
remind me of the pettifoggers, who, when they had had the body cat 
up five times to their full satisfaction, refused to commit themselves 
that the man was dead. 

Hill {rises from his couch and approaches ]\]'DGE Tryon). Can 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 2"] 

you, sir, with your uncounted millions, allow the family of an em- 
ploye to starve ? Suppose I am innocent. The law presumes every 
man innocent until he is proved guilty. Then, how would you feel 
if they should perish while I am here ? 

Judge Tryon. Feel — feel — I should not feel at all about it. Peo- 
ple starve every day. What do I care } 

(Hill s/nks back as if in despair. FR.A.NK '6. grasps his arm 
and sustains him. To JUDGE T.) If you, sir, decline to do an 
act which would soften the inevitable severity of the law, and cover 
yourself with honor ; if you, sir, can not see how such an act would 
redound to your own credit ; if you refuse all pity and sympathy to 
those who suffer innocently, for whether my client be guilty or not, 
they suffer innocently ; if you can lightly denounce the doom of 
starvation upon a widow and her children, I cannot ; though I have 
myself amassed but little, that little is due where innocence suffers. 
Judge. This is paying my employes to pillage my goods ; this 
is suborning my underlings to steal from me, and rewarding them 
for doing so. I shall see if an action will not lie against you, sir. 

Roundabout. You are committing yourself, sir. I tell you that 
you are committing yourself; remember what we came here for. 

lUDGE {aside). Yes, I came here to speak to Hill fair, and get 
information from him ; yes, 1 was to speak fair. 

Roundabout (aside). You have gone so tar ; you would com- 
mit yourself, that now you had better lea\e him to me. Take leave 
as if you were sorr)-. 

Judge. I will not be sorry about anything. I will not be sorry, 
but I will leave him to you. {Aside) And I shall employ a sharper 
lawyer than you are ; one who will not l^e so friendly with my ene- 
mies. [Exit. 

Roundabout {approaching Frank S. zuith a friendly, depre- 
cating air aftd inanncr). Very w^arm my client is ; very injudicious ; 
will commit himself; thinks he can do anything because he has 
money. 

Stuyve.sant. Enough to kill my poor young friend here; he is 
so weak and low already from starvation and overwork, that such 
a scene is enough to tinish him. If he did take money, it is not a 
capital offense ; the law does not take life for it. 

Roundabout. True {feels Hill's pulse). How are you ? 
Hill. I just gave up to perish ; I did not expect or wish to live 
until my good lawyer here — I don't even know his name — has made 
me take heart a little. 

Frank S. My name is Frank Stuyvesant ; be sure that I am a 
true friend to you. 

Hill {grasping his hands). Thank you ; I believe you. 

Enter a TURNKEY. 

Frank S. {to Turnkey). What does Mr. Hill eat? 
Turnkey. About nothing, sir; nigh about nothing, 
Frank S. Do you get for him chicken soup and port wine. {To 



28 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

Hill). Take it for your mother and the children's sake. You will 
live to work for them many a day yet. I am not without influence 
in this our great city, which my ancestors took their share in found- 
ing. I will undertake to get you a place when you are through with 
this. None of us know what we would do if we were starving. 

Roundabout. I am commissioned to offer him favorable terms. 

Frank S. Favorable terms from Judge Lyon. 

Roundabout. If our esteemed friend Mr. Hill will consent to 
render some private services in the interest of the House, he will be 
restored to his place, and a jioUc prosequi be entered. 

Hill, \yhat am I expected to do? 

Roundabout. To keep a watch upon certain parties whom the 
Judge suspects ; to ingratiate yourself with them, and report what 
you see. He knows that you acted under great pressure ; that you 
held out long, and wished to be honest. If he can get proof against 
them, he will let you off. 

ViWA. {rising "cuHIi animation). Never! never! never will I bring 
upon others what I have suffered myself. I know too well the hor- 
rors of a prison and of disgrace impending over an honest name. 
Ingratiate myself with my comrades and inform against them .^ no, 
never, let me die first. 

Stuyvesant (shxkes hi7n by the hand). This, our friend, is hon- 
est at heart ; he is yet a man. We will bring him through. 

Roundabout. I will say no more to you, but when I tell the 
Judge that you utterly refuse his proposal, look for the worst that 
he can do. 

Frank S. {to Hill). I will stand by you. 

Roundabout. There is a lady, the widow of a deceased mer- 
chant prince, formerly head of the House, who is immensely wealthy, 
and has the heart to use her money for all who need or suffer. 1 
am acquainted with the lady, and I will state the case to her. 

Frank ^. And if you do not succeed, I am ready to do all that 
is needful for 30U {to Hill) and for your family. 

Hill. I trust to live to show my gratitude. 

Frank S. shakes hands 7uith HiLL and ROUNDABOUT. 
Curtain. 

SCENE 111. — A street in Xeiu York City, about seven in the 

ei'eni?ig. 

Marie (walks alotte ; tiuo angels, one the mother, hover above 
her. They can, of course, be otnitted or introduced at pleasure). 
Ah! what have I done? what have I done? that I am forbidden to 
ring at my own aunt's door ; that I can not ^o in and see my 
brother. Why did they bring us here ? They must have intended 
me for the kitchen-girl ; to be under the cook ; to work without 
wages ; to be a poor relation. Yes, a poor relation ; to wear the 
old clothes and bear the ill humors. Below the servant ! yes, she 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 29 

can demand her wages ; she can go away ; to work three months 
for board, and be sent away ; turned out with nothing ; this it is to 
be a poor relation. Our dear and faithful maunier would have taken 
care of us; her sons would have worked for us. Oh, why did we 
leave them.'' And yet, is it I who am speaking thus? This, my 
complaint, shows how human and how earthly I am. I ought to 
know. I do know that all is well ; all is well. (S/ie ascends the steps 
of a handsome house, raps three times on the glass beside the 
door ; CHARLES cojiiesoiit and joins her. They embrace, and walk 
in the street together). 

Charles. How do they treat you. Mane? 

Marie. They are kind to me, dear, dear brother ; far kinder 
than our own relations ; they love me already. I try to help them, 
but I can not cook or wash. They have to hire another room for 
me, and they are poor (clasping her hands). Charlev dear, I can 
not eat the bread of these poor people. I must get work that I can 
do. I am going to take a situation as nursery governess, and I 
came, dearie, to tell you good-b\e. I don't know if you can come 
and see me. 

Charles. Oh ! sister, you have not deserved this ; how can I 
see you in the position of a servant ? Our dying mother prayed God 
to take care of us, and has it come to this ? 

Marie. God will take careof us, dear brother; let us do our best 
and trust in Him. I shall give thanks every day, that I can earn 
my living, and see you sometimes. Won't you come and see me? 

Charles. Yes, I will come, and it is better than being depend- 
ent ; but how can you get such a place ? 

Marie. The good Jeannette has secured it for me ; .all will be 
well, brother. 

{They pass on out of sigh(). 

SCENE IV. — From the previous scene doors open a?id disclose 
the interior of a room within. Mrs. Blount is sitting on 
a sofa ; Jane, the servant-girl, is applying cold ivater to her 
head and face. Another servant-girl and a laundress are 
sta?iding by looking frightened. 

Mrs. Blount {gasps out). I saw my sister ; indeed, I saw her. 

Jane. Oh ! no, ma'am, 'tis too tinder-hearted ye are intirely ; 
'tis yer good feelings overpowered ye. 

Mrs. B. She looked at me and raised her hand, it seemed in 
warning or reproach. She may well reproach me. 

Jane. Indade, ma'am, ye've not been the same since that little 
minx left yer door. 

Mrs. B. She is my sister's child. 

Jane. Och, ma'am, don't let the master hear ye. 

Mrs. B. And my sister sheltered me in her home when I was an 
orphan. 

Jane. Och, ma'am, ye've got the blue rapoues, will I be afther 
.sindin' for the docther? 



30 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

Mrs. B. Where was my heart ? where were my feelings, that it 
could come to this? 

Jane. Sure, ma'am, she was a troublesome cratur. She (liclu't 
know how to do nuthin'. 

2d Servant. And poor, ma'am ; so poor she didn't have one 
dollar; not one dollar, ma'am. 

Jane. And shabby, ma'am. Barbara here {pointing to the 
laii/idress). Barbara was above the doin' of sich dresses. 

Barbara. Caliker, ma'am. Caliker and print like she had, come 
out of the backwoods. 

Mrs. B. I promised to provide her. Oh ! why does not con- 
science warn us in time. She keeps all her scorpion stings until it 
is too late ! too late ! too late ! 

Barbara. Lor', ma'am, 'tis a common case wid poor relations. 
I has known people to bring 'em here before, and they has no 
sinsibility and no gratefulness ; mostly they has to sind 'em back 
where they come from, and no fuss about it. Let 'em go, ma'am, 
and say, "Joy go wid 'em." 

Mrs. B. (Her manner should show that she is quite unmindful 
of what the servants say. She listens to her conscience ; to the in- 
ward tumult only). M v conscience did speak, but it was a still small 
voice, and I drowned it in worldliness. I would not hear ; now I 
deserve to feel her lash. Oh ! sister, sister {fixing her eyes on a 
corner of the apartment where a dim ghostly outline may be seen ; 
goes into hysterics. The servants shri?ik back in astonishmefit 
and horror). 

Enter ]\Ik. Blount. 

Mr. B. What is all this } 

Jane. The mistress has seen her sister. 

Mr. B. What of that?- 

Jank. Her dead sister. 

Mr. B. She has? {looks startled). 

Mrs. B. You tempted me. 

Mr. B. Not I ; you acted fou yourself. 

Mrs. B. You spoke against that child from the day you knew 
that she had no money. 

Mr. B. Y'ou need not blame me ; you are not a character very 
easily influenced by anybody. 

Mrs. B. You aggravated ine all that you could. 

Mr. B. You, yourself, ot your own heart, grudged your sister's 
child her food from the first ; had she been my sister's child, she 
should not have gone. 

Mrs. B. And why is your sister's child different from mine? 

Mr. B. Because, though a man, 1 would have had some natural 
feeling for my own flesh and blood ; you had none. If you had 
cared half as much for her as for those vile cats and dogs, she would 
have been here now. 

Mrs. B. From the time I married you, you have made me grow 
worse, and now you reproach me. 



THE GREAT HOUSE. ■ 3I 

Mr. B. Bad as I am, and I don't pretend to be good, the dead 
sister's face sometimes rises before me, just as she looked when, on 
your bridal morning, she clasped your veil with her own circlet of 
pearls. 

Mrs. B. {sobbing and shrieking again). Yes, it was so, but you 
made me ; you used to tell me that it only they were all dead every- 
thing would be ours. Leave me ; go from me. I have often told 
you to go. 

Mr. B. I did go, and like a fool I came back. 1 know I am bad ; 
that is a man's privilege; he can come right out and be bad and 
take the consequences; but a woman — there should be some feel- 
ing left in a woman. 

Mrs. B. Is there a different law for men and women ? 

Mr. B. If there is not, there should be ; to see a woman like you — 
if she had been my sister's child 1 would have begged for her be- 
fore she should have been abandoned in this city. Bad as I am I 
have some feeling. 

Mrs. B. {s/ill sobbing ]iystcrically). You urged me on ; you 
made me. 

Mr. B. You are not in general so wonderfully obedient to me ; 
if you had had natural feelings that would have restrained you. 
( To Jane). Take care of your mistress ; when I see such storms 
invade the sacred precincts of my home {spoken ironically), I have 
a refuge prepared. I shall dine at the club. ** 

{Exii. 
Curtain. 



SCENE \ . — Part of Union Square. Marie is rolling a baby in 
its carriage ; three or four boys are playing around her. 

Enter Frank Stuyvesant. 

Frank S. Let me roll the carriage. 

Marie. No, Mr. Stuyvesant, what would your mother say to your 
doing my work ? 

Frank S. {They stand under a shade). Marie, you are a very 
strange girl ; you sing and you paint, you have read history and you 
speak French, yet you hire out for a nursing-maid. You do not 
belong to this place either. Won't you tell me how all this is ? 

Marie. I have come from 'a home in the country, where the 
birds sing, the grass grows green, and the flowers bloom nearly all 
the year. 

Frank S. And why have you left it? 

Marie. Our dear mother died; the Clerk of Court took every- 
thing that we had, so we had to come here. 

Frank S. Who besides yourself? 

Marie. My younger brother Charles. 

Frank S. And why does he not come to see you ? 

Marie. I am afraid that your mother would not like it. 



32 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

Frank. S. And you wish to see him ? 

Marie. Mrs. Siuyvesant told me that she did not allow any 
followers, but I am free Sunday afternoons to go to church, and 
then I see him. 

Frank S. He is not a follower — don't you know what a fol- 
lower is ? 

Marie. Some one said a visitor. 

Frank S. Your brother is not a follower — I look much more like 
a follower iiti a joking, teasing tone). 

Marie. Oh ! Mr. Stuyvesant, please do not speak to me, nor 
come near me. I like you — but I remember now Charlie told me 
not to speak to, nor make acquaintance with, any gentleman. 

Frank S. But you did not make my acquaintance, I made yours. 
I came into the nursery and insisted on superintending your man- 
agement of my infant brothers and sisters. 

Marie. That was very good of )ou — you were a great help to 
me then. 

Frank S. {same joking yet tender mamier). I take an uncom- 
mon interest in the progress of the children. 

Marie {iiot understanding any anmiration of herself). Of 
course, what else should an elder brother do ? 

Frank S. I never took so much interest before. 

Marie. Do you think then that I manage them well ? 

Frank S. Wonderfully — the ver)' pap-boat has become interest- 
ing to me. I had rather hear you sing while you rock the cradle, 
than Jenny Lind if she came out again. 

Marie. Indeed — do you think I sing well.? 

Frank S. Much better than Jenny Lind. 

Marie {looking doiun, clasping her hands — ^7 motion natural to 
her). Do not laugh at me. 

Frank S. {in an impressive, niarked manner). In truth — I 
think so {smiling down upon her). 

Marie {with a little assumption of dignity and reproof ). Mr. 
Stuyvesant, I would like vou so much if you would not laugh at me. 

Frank S. If the papa knew that, they would be done with you 
instanter. 

Marie. Why ? 

Frank S. You are so dangerous. 

Marie. How can I be dangerou* ? 

Frank S. You are innocent and gentle, young and fair, unknown 
and portionless 

Marie (astonished). How is that dangerous.'' 

Frank S. I can tell you the fact, but 1 can not supply compre- 
hension—don't ask me; but if they knew I looked at you three 
times, they would have no more use for you. 

Marie. Then don't look at me — oh ! never speak to me {elasp- 
ing her hands and looking up into his face). Oh ! dear Mr. Stuy- 
vesant, please go away and never speak to me. 

Frank S. Won't you tolerate me just a little.'' 



THE GREAT HOUSE 33 

Marie. 1 am so proud and so pleased that I can earn my own 
living and in such a pleasant way — for I love little children — I love 
to take care of them ; but you are not in my charge — I have not 
the care of you {hoking clear up to Jam ; iJier-c sJwjild, if posszbh', be 
a great difference in height), but only of the little ones, so don't 
speak to me — -you must mind what your mother says. 

Mrs. Armitage {approaches, to Frank). Will you please to 
tell me if you have seen my son— my Georgy.'' 

Frank S. (with a respectful, sympathizing 7nanner). How shall 
I know him, ma'am, that I may be ablf" to inform you 7 

Mrs. Armitage. He is a young fair boy— yet taller than I am"; 
he is my only son. I have often walked the square and watched 
and waited and he came to me. 

Marie listens zvitli a surprised, interested look. 

Frank S. Where do you think that I can find him, ma'am ? 

Mrs. a. At the Great House — that great palace {pointitig to 
some object iti the distance — down from Union Square) ; he said 
he would make a fortune there, and he told me when I wanted to 
see him to walk up and down until he came to me — but, oh ! he 
comes not {breaks into the safne sorrowful cry'). Oh ! give me back 
my child. Oh I cruel and beautiful marble palace, give back youth 
and hope to those whom thou hast rendered prematurely old — give 
back my child — my child — my Georgy. 

Marie has taken the baby in her arms, and is clinging to Fr.a.NK's 

arm. 

Marie. My brother works in that Great House, ma'am ; rest 
yourself — try to sleep — I will ask where he is. 

Mrs. a. Your voice is sweet to me, and your looks are kindly, 
but oh ! I can not sleep — there is no sleep for me any more. 

Frank S. Let me take you home, and we will try to find your son. 

Mrs. a. {goes close to Marie and looks in her face). Fair girl, 
you love your brother. Oh ! let me warn vou — that marble palace 
doth bewitch the hearts of men with tales of fortune and of grandeur, 
like some fabled siren, and when she hath lured them into her toils, 
hope and youth and love go from them, and sometimes they are 
seen no more. I watch and wait, but he comes not — I call and 
I cry aloud, but she has a marble heart, she gives not back my 
child. 

Frank S. {draws her arm within his, and leads her gently 
away, saying). Let me assist you, ma'am. 

[Mrs. a. and Frank Exeuut. 
Curtain. 



34 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

SCENE VI. — A hattdsome parlor in a certain wliiie marble palace. 
A Ladv in widoius mottrning, seated. A Servant /rt'i'^?//^ 
a card on a silver waiter. 

Ladv. Ask him to walk in. 

Enter ROUNDABOUT. 

Roundabout {bcnus profoundly). Madam, you desired me some 
time since to bring to your knowledge any case of distress which 
might become known to me among the employe's of the house. 

Ladv. I shall thank you for doing so — shall consider it a favor 
done to myself. 

Roundabout. It is a great pleasure to me, for sometimes it is 
our duty to prosecute where our hearts and feelings sympathize. 

Lady. A case of crime .'' 

Round. I fear that it is, madam ; but while the party who is sup- 
posed to be guilty lies in prison, his family, who are certainly inno- 
cent, starve. For them I desire to invoke your compassion. 

Lady. It is granted before it is asked. 

Round. Nay, honored lady, let me tell you — it is right that you 
should know the circumstances. 

Lady bows assent. 

Round. Did you hear Judge Tryon say that the cashier had 
been guilty of a defalcation — a small amount } 

Lady. I think I heard something about it. 

Round. He is the eldest son of a widow ; his mother and a 
family of children are all dependent upon him. It seems that a 
little girl was sick ; fuel, food, and medicine — all were wanting. His 
mother desired him to ask an advance. He considered it useless 
to do so, and took it himself. He says that he intended to return it. 
He is in prison, so heart-broken, sick, and weak from previous hard 
work and starvation that he is in need of nourishing food and wine 
to keep life in him ; while his family, who depended upon his wages, 
are utterly destitute. 

Lady. What does the Judge say .'' 

Round. Judge Tryon thinks that he ought to be made an 
example. 

Lady (s/uidders, takes out her pier si). How much ought I to 
send ? 

Round, {inusingly). Eight dollars a week to the family — food 
and wine to him. {Appears to calculate.) 

Lady. Here is a hundred-dollar note ; when that is gone, call 
•on me for more. 

Round, {rising). I must give thanks in Hill's name. 

Lady. Stay- -are you his lawyer.'' 

Round. I am employed by the Judge. 

Ladv. To prosecute? 

Round. Even so. You will not let him know that I have spoken 
to vou. 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 



35 



Lady. I honor your kindness of heart. I do not wish him to 
know that I send money. Let him know nothing. 

Round. He shall know nothing from me. (Boras /mv.) 

[Exit. 

Lady (zca/h'/ii,'- sknuly to and fro, speaks to herself). I suppose 
others think that I am at the summit of human felicity. Ah ! I am 
so poor — so poor in all that makes life worth the living. Youth 
and love — they are riches ; age and money are but poverty twice 
told. This vaunted wealth — what can it do for me } Can it pro- 
long life ? Can it restore youth or drive away death ? Ah ! if 
children and grandchildren pressed around me and lisped my name 
in loving accents — that were wealth ; to dwell alone and unloved 
— that is poverty, poverty indeed. Never had I the heart or soiil 
to be satisfied with money. Oh, for x>ne faithful friend who would 
love me for myself only ! but that is not given me. Who will weep 
when I am dead } — I know not ; and who will smile ? — many, — 
many, I suppose, for each will think — maybe there is a legacy 
forme. I dwell in frigid grandeur; I can drive out and see mv 
own tomb when I like^— and I wonder if even there I shall be suf- 
fered to repose. " Vanity of vanities," saith the wise man. Even 
in the tomb which we have built, we know not whether we shall 
be allowed to rest. One certainty alone remains to me — I can do 
good to the sorrowful and comfort the poor. Yes. I will rejoice to 
do that — I will not listen to the Judge, who talks ever of money — 
money — money. Can he live on money } — can he eat money ? — 
can he wear money } — and oh ! can he carry money with him to 
that narrow home which is built already for me.' Yet one thing- 
remains to ease my bursting heart. I can take of the dross which 
surrounds me, and, by the only true alchemy, I can convert it into 
enduring treasure by comforting those who mourn. I will assume 
the dress of a Sister of Charity, and visit that poor prisoner. Per- 
haps in giving myself to the good of others, I may in that disguise 
find some simple, lowly soul whose love I may gain — I, who am so 
poor, so poor. Yes, as a Sister of Charity I will go. Thus I may 
find love here and riches that I can carry with me through and 
beyond that narrow home, and even into the eternal mansions 
beyond. 

(Passes out of sight.) 
Curtain. 



ACT IV. 

Scene L — A Court room. Judge upon the Beneh. GEORGE 
Hill as pri:oner, his mother and three children beside him. 
Sharpe, the prosecuting attorney, is speaking. ROUNDABOUT 
sits beside him (Sn.\'R¥b'.). Frank Stuyvesant is comtset 
for the prisoner. Officers, etc., arranged as in a Court room. 
Sharpe. Behold his villainous countenance, his bent form, his 

prematurely aged look — all proclaim his treachery. Succored in 



;^6 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

the hour of need, trusted, placed in a responsible position by the 
magnanimous House which we have the honor to represent, like 
the viper, he takes the first opportunity to turn and sting the hand 
which warmed him. (MRS. Hill wet^ps, the children ding around 
her and weep with her ; prisoner bozos his head upon his hattds, 
concealing' his face.) 

Sharpe {continuitig). What shall become of the commercial 
honesty and honor of our country ? Where shall Columbia hide 
her head, discrowned and dishonored, should such a villain be per- 
mitted to go forth unpunished ? Contrast with his shameful 
career, that of our distinguished fellow-citizen. Judge Tryon, the 
brilliant example of honor and integrity. Remember the illustri- 
ous merchant prince who laid the tbundation of the honored and 
honorable firm which has become celebrated throughout the 
civilized world. Laws are made to guard the fortunes of such 
men. Where property is insecure, the whole social fabric totters. 
I call upon you, then, gentlemen of the jury, in the name of our 
country, for the sake of the stars and stripes which wave over us ; 
in the name of honor and honesty, of law and of virtue, to pro- 
nounce a verdict which shall save us from the future treachery of 
such villains. 

{Slight murmurs of applause.) 

Judge Trvon {rises). I consic'er it necessary to the future wel- 
fare and prosperity of our house that an example should now be 
made. I demand that the utmost penalty of the law should be in- 
flicted, that our other employes may be deterred from such daring 
fraud and peculation as has been proved against the prisoner. 

Frank Stuyvesant {rises). You see before you, gentlemen of 
the jury, in the person of my unfortunate client, one whom sorrow 
and misfortune have pursued almost from the cradle. Melancholy 
seems to have marked him for her own. But it is not villainy or 
treachery which have written their lines upon his countenance and 
made him, as our learned opponent has remarked, prematurely 
aged and bent. No, gentlemen of the jury, it is toil, privation, and 
labor from a too early age which have stamped their impress upon 
his form and upon his face. My friends, we are all human ; though 
our learned brother and his client may have hearts as well as 
palaces of marble — we have not. Who can say what the pangs 
of starvation may do with him .' Who shall say, I will suffer toil 
and privation — I will starve and die, and do no wrong to save my- 
self and the helpless ones, dearer than life — more precious than 
self, who suffer and die with me. To those who are human — to 
those who have hearts of flesh, I appeal. My friends, does the 
tutelary genius of our beloved country — does Columbia mourn — 
do the stars upon our banner fade or pale because we are not all 
endowed with the endurance of heroes and of martyrs ? The spirit 
of heroism and martyrdom, I might say, is not given to all ; but 
hear me, friends, and you shall juflge whether somewhat of that 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 37 

spirit has not been shown by this child of sorrow, though he has 
come short of that illuminated standard in one instance. Listen 
to his story. Some years ago his father died, leaving a widow and 
seven children. My client is the eldest ; he was then sixteen years 
of age. " Mother," he said, "fear nothing, I am now almost a 
man ; I consecrate mv life to your service. I will face the world 
for you and for the children ; I am brave and strong, I have iiope 
and youth and enthusiasm. I go forth like some knight of old to 
do my devoir for those who are so dear to me." And so he entered 
the Great House. He was diligent and Taithful, and he rose to 
the position of Cashier. But Hesh is flesh, my friends — we are 
human, we are not marble ; the pittance was so small and the toil 
and responsibility were so hard that one by one, hope, youth and en- 
thusiasm left him as the bereaved wido\V who has been heard to cry 
in vain in our streets, too truly says, the marble palace gives not back 
hope £ind youth to those whom she has rendered prematurely old 
— these were gone, his form was prematurely bent, and his counte- 
nance early aged, yet duty and endurance remained. Midnight toil, 
privation, and responsibility are what my learned opponent and his 
client call treachery and villainy. He became cashier at eight dol- 
lars a week — yes, the man who has brought him here to-day — 
revelling himself in the possession of uncounted millions, very 
easily gained — allowed to this intelligent, young man, knowing how 
manv were dependent upon him, eight dollars a week. Still he 
struggled and still he was faithful, but sickness entered his home ; 
the little sister, the pet and darling of all, was taken ill ; the small 
allowance, already so straitened, was soon exhausted. His mother 
desired him to ask an advance ; he believed it useless to ask — use- 
less to state the circumstances in which he was placed. Under 
such pressure — in such need — for his mother's sake — he advanced 
himself one week's salary. He had, it seems, already been watched. 
His haggard looks caused him to be suspected ; all that he could 
say was vain, for that wealthy firm still had need of the fatherless 
and friendless youth for an example — an example — that he may be 
sacrificed as an offering to their pride and grandeur. And I fear, 
my friends, that whatever may be your decision, they will be grati- 
fied, and he will indeed be an example. Look upon that wasted 
cheek and hollow eye ; it may be that the hour comes v.hen that 
mother will be deprived of her protector and her stay — those little 
ones of their second father. Then may Columbia mourn indeed, 
then may the stars and stripes grow pale, when life can be crushed 
from the youth of our country by such grinding and such oppres- 
sion. 

Frank Stuyvesant takes Jiis seat amid cheers and applause from 
the spectators. 

Judge Tryon (rises). I repeat, gentlemen of the jury, that I de- 
mand an example. This young man has stolen our money, and 
in the name of honesty and common sense, I say I trust that 



;^8 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

you will disregard all these flowers of rhetoric, and make an ex- 
ample of that felon. {Takes his seat amid mititered groans and 
hisses) 

{The Judge upon the bench delivers his charge). My duty 
is to represent to you, gentlemen of the jury, that in spite of 
the touching picture which Mr. Stuyvesant has drawn, the plain 
fact remains of the evidence which you have heard. Your duty is 
simply and only to pronounce whether you consider him guilty or 
not guilty. * 

{The jury appear to consult, foreman gi7'es the verdict.) Guilty, 
but recommended to mercy. 

Judge. Stand up, George Hill, and receive your sentence. We 
feel for the trying position in which you have been placed : we ap- 
preciate your efforts to do the duty of a son, but the majesty oi 
the law must be vindicated. With a sorrowful heart, and deeply 
sensible of the painful duty imposed upon me, I therefore give 
sentence that you remain six months in the penitentiary without 
labor, which is the lightest sentence in my power to impose. 

George Hill. Oh ! my mother ! 

Judge Trvon. That sentence does not make an example. I 
have said that I demand the full penalty of the law. I demand 
that he be made an example. 

Frank S. Look upon his countenance — look upon the anguish 
which sways his frame — look upon that widowed mother and her 
children. George Hill has lost in your service youth, hope, en- 
thusiasm, health, and honor — is it your desire that he shall lose his 
life also } Are you not a man .'' Hav'e you not the common feel- 
ings of humanity ? 

(Applause.) 

Judge Tryon. Stuff — stuff and nonsense — sympathy with a 
thief. 

Ladv (disguised as a Sister of Chaiity) has entered the Court 
Room just as the sentence has been pronounced, sits beside 
Mrs. Hill, takes her hand^endeavors to console her and the 
prisoner, accompanies them to a hall xuhich opens from the 
Court Room. The officers in charge conduct GEORGE HiLL 
there — the others follow. 



SCENE II. — A small room or hall adjoining the court-room. 
Enter an officer conducting the prisoner. His mother and the 
children follow, also Lady disguised as a Sister of Charity, 
and P'rank Stuyvesant. The prisoner appears over- 
■ivJielmed with grief and shame. 

Lady (advances to him and takes his hand). You know my real 
name. Trust your mother to me {laying her Jiand on hers). She 
shall be my special care ; and for you, tell me what I can do ? 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 39 

Hill {standing ttpright, appearing mo7'e hopeful). Madam, I 
am deeply grateful to you ; believe me, that I am not at heart a 
thief or a felon. In my intention that money was only an advance. 
I should have returned it. 

Ladv {hands him a roll of small Jiofes). I wish you to have 
every comfort. I shall care for your mother. * 

Hill. May the God of the widow bless you, madam {selects some 
notes and hands them to Frank S.) Will you hand these to Judge 
Tryon, and say that I intended to make the amount good, and that 
I pray he may never be exposed to the same temptation. For your- 
self, sir, how much will you accept .■' 

Frank S. Nothing; nothing. I go to fulfill your commission. 

[Exit. 

Hill. And remorse is added to my sorrow. Oh ! that I had re- 
sisted temptation. If only I had not yeilded, I could now feel like a 
man ; I would not be utterly crushed and disgraced as I am ; but I 
feel that Mrs. Stuyvesant is right. I shall not be here long; and 
you, honored lady, to you I leave my mother and the little ones 
{draws them forward ajid presents them to the Lady). 

Lady. I shall make it my first care to settle an annuity upon 
your mother, but you will recover when your mind is easy. You 
will be spared to your mother, for you have been a dutiful son. I 
often told my late husband that he ought to give his employes 
enough to live on. I always said so. Alas ! we women feel where 
the right is. We are wiser than men in those things, but they dis- 
regard what we can say, and call it sentiment. Oh ! could 1 but 
undo all that has been done [raising her ha fids and eyes to heaven). 

Hill. Madam, I shall prav hourly for you ; farewell (he boius hnv ; 
she extends her hand, and he kisses it). 

Mrs. Hill. The blessing of we who were ready to perish, sur- 
round and rest upon you. 

Lady. I am thankful that I can 

Officer. We must go. 

Curtain. 



ACT V. 



SCENE \.—A handsome parlor or bedroom in Mrs. Stuyves- 
ant's house. A large mirror in the room, and a boudoir open- 
ing from it. Mrs. Stuyvesant is standing before the glass. 
Mme. yS.k.^TY.KXS, a dress-maker, and Vl XV)' \a.y. Fandango, 
a milliner, are present. A jeweler s clerk is near a distant 
table, with some jewelry displayed. Dresses, bonnets, laces, 
and silks are lying abont on chairs and tables. 

Mme. Manteau. Madam, the fit is perfect ; you look a Juno. 
{^To Mlle. Fandango). Is not madam absolutely angelic? 



40 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

Mlle. Fandango. yl//A?(/K looks well in anything, her contour 
sets off the dress ; but with this bonnet, the chef d'oeiivre of Mme. 
de Fleuzel, then she will look angelic. Milady is like la paiivre Iin- 
perah'ice Eugenie. She recalls to nrie that lovely lady when she was 
empress. {'W/iile speaking s/w places a bonnet on the head of Mrs. 
Stuyvesant). Look now cest nnc conrenne, 'tis a crown to 
her beauty {the bonnet should ha7'e a coronet of golden fioivers and 
wheat). Now she looks angtlic. 

Mme. Manteau. And when did ever you see the empress 
Eugenie ? 

Mlle. Fandango. My Mme. De Fleuzel and I made the bon- 
nets of the empress, when she was empress (Mrs. Stuyvesant 
turns round and looks at the t%uo). 

Mme. Manteau. Ah ! madam, pardontie2-?noi. Will madam 
try another dress ? 

Mrs. S. As this one fits so well, you can make the others by it. 

i\Ime. Manteau. Madam's figure is so perfect, I have only 
ask the' designer whom we employ to give me actually perfect pro- 
portions, and madam is fitted. 

Mlle. Fandango. It is our style in a bonnet which makes her so 
lovely. Will milady {bozuing low) try on more bonnets ? 

Mrs. S. a bonnet to suit each dress. 

Mme. Manteau. We have an antique brocade to make over, by 
Monsieur's orders ; he says that the lady of the high and mighty 
excellency Pietro Stuyvesant, the first governor, wore it at a New 
Year reception. 

Mrs. S. (sniiling). So she did ; and, when she took it off, it 
could stand alone. 

Mme. Manteau. Ah, madame, they do not make such silks 
now. ShaH I trim it uith the same point de Venise which she 
wore with it } 

Mrs. S. Certainly ; all to suit. 

Mme. Manteau. Your arms are so beautiful, I think 1 shall 
give you short sleeves. 

Mrs. S. Perhaps Mr. S. may not like that. 

Mme. Manteau and Mlle. Fandango (in chorus). Oh, mi- 
lady, cest passe — 'tis old-fashioned to mind what the husband, 
Monsieur le Marl, says. Let him be un peu jaloux- — a little jealous 
— so much the better ; he will admire milady the more. 

Mme. Manteau. I have improvised a style for this toilet which 
shows all the beauty of the neck ; the pearly-white shoulders 
should just appear, while a caprice covers the collar-bone. 

Mlle. Fandango. Madame will look like a young belle just 
presented. 

Mrs. S. I am old-fashioned enough to have it as Mr. Stuyvesant 
likes. 

Mme. >L'\nteau. Oh, madame, he will never want it in style. 

The Jeweler's Clerk {comes forward). By Mr. Stuyvesant's 
orders I have reset the diamonds of the lady, and a miniature of 
the governor, to be worn with the dress. 



THE ORE AT HOUSE. 4I 

Mrs. S. The same miniature which she used to wear around her 
neck } 

Clerk. The same, madam. 

M.ME. Manteau (utd Mlle. Fandango (iH chorus). C'esf 
charmant. Milady may like such a Monsieur le Mari as that ! To 
think of a husband doing such a thing ! 

Enter FRANK S. Looks disappointed. JValks up and down 
7(fieasily. Aside. 

Can a woman disregard her laces and flowers ? If there be a 
^\onlan who can do so, it is my mamma. 

Mrs. S. Do \ou want to speak to me, Frank? 

Frank S. When you are at leisure, mamma. 

Mme. Manteau. Surely Monsieur is Madame's stejj-son ? 

Mlle. Fandango. Does milady look like the mother of such a 
tall young gentleman } 

M'rs. S. My son, )ou are troubled. (To Mme. M. and Mlle. 
F.) You will please return at this time to-morrow. 

T/uy and the Clerk gat/ier up their wares and leave, looking 
disappointed. Some 'silks, laces, ribbons, flowers, etc., are left 
about the room. Mrs. S. ~eats herself, with Fr.ank beside 
her. He kisses her hand respectfully. 

Frank. You who gave me life and made my childhood happy, 
will you give to my manhood love and happiness also } 

Mrs. S. [loo'diig surprised)* Wow can I do that, my son? 

Frank. Mother, I have formed an attachment — the love of my 
life. I feel that I shall know no other — will you smile upon it, and 
will you reconcile papa? 

Mrs. S. Tell me about it, my dear; my only wish is to see you 
happy. 

Frank {takes her hand). Mother, I fear that I shall startle you ; 
but promise me this — that at least you will not act against me. 

Mrs. S. My son, you frighten me. How can you suppose that I 
would act against you ? 

Frank. Mother, can you rise' above the prejudices of the 
world ? 

Mrs. S. Speak out, my dear; do not keep me in suspense. 

Frank. At least promise me that if you refuse my request, you 
will not alter your conduct to any person in an\' way on account of 
what I tell you. 

Mrs. S. {turns and looks YYiAliY.. in the face). I do not under- 
stand. 

Frank (speaking slondy and itnpressix'ely). I wish to place a 
confidence in you which few young men are happy enough to place 
in a mother. 

Mrs. S. I appreciate it, my son. 

Frank. But I have no right to peril the welfare of another per- 



42 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

son. I wish you to promise that in any case — should you disap- 
prove — that you will not change your conduct to any one in conse- 
quence of what I tell you. 

Mrs. S. (Jookitig him in the face). I trust you, my son, and 1 
promise. 

Frank. Then hear me. Your little nursemaid Marie is no 
common servant. She is of a good Virginia family, reared in com- 
foit and ease, educated and refined — a young lady lovelier in mind 
and character than any of the wealthy daughters of Fortune with 
whom sometimes I am called to associate. In short, mother, I love 
her — I love her so honorably and truly that I ask for her my 
motht-r's protection, care, and love. 

Mrs. .S. Dear Frank, I have only noticed her as a nursery gov- 
erness; she is devoted and faithful, but I viewed her in no other 
light. 

Frank. Mother, in her calico dress, without any of the gauds 
of fashion, like a rare and precious flower cast by the wayside, 1 
saw in her the ideal of my soul, the counterpart which I might 
vainly have sought throughout the world. I saw it the first time 
that 1 met her. 

Mrs. S. Tell me, Frank, how you kno"w anything about her.? 

Frank. A true love like mine can see through the outer garb 
and reveal the princess in the servant-maid. 

Mrs, S. Has she encouraged you? 

Frank. I have not sought her until I can^first obtain for her my 
mother's protection. , 

Mrs. S. Tell me all that you have learned about her. 

Frank. Her parents owned considerable property in Virginia ; 
her mother died some months since. The Clerk of Court, Probate 
Judge, and their lawyer took possession of the property, and denitd 
the minor children any share in it ; she and her brother came to 
an aunt in this city. When the aunt found that their money was 
gone, she disowned them ; Marie sought employment and became 
your nursemaid. Mother, as you value my happiness, take her for 
}our daughter, and such I trust she will in time become. 

Mrs. S. 1 will speak to her and notice her. If 1 find her what 
you think, I will be a parent to her. 

Frank. What a noble mother I have. 

Mrs. S. {smiling). Don't you think you have only gone wild } 

Frank. No, mamma. Love, like the spear of Ithuriel, pene- 
trates through all disguises. I saw in her, at once, the innocent 
maiden and the refined lady. 

Mrs. S. What will your father say, Frank .> 

Frank. I trust to you to reconcile him. 

Mrs. S. When have you seen Marie } 

Frank. Just now I passed through the nursery. She was sit- 
ting on the floor trj'ing to put on Jack's shoes. He was fighting 
and kicking at her. I looked and waited — I have some sense left 
— to see what she would do. " I will sing for you," she said, and 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 



43 



she soothed the little savage with such sweetness as an angel might 
show. Yet I saw her weep, and I could hot bear it. As I came 
to you with my childish sorrows— I still remember how, when I fell 
down, you kissed the knee to make it well — so I come to you now ; 
and oh ! my mother, again you make me well — you heal my heart 
wounds this time. 

Mrs. S. Dear boy, I have not forgotten my youth. I knew a 
lady who destroyed the happiness of her son's life to gratify her 
own pride. She separated him from his early love because she 
had not high family ; she never could repair it ; she persuaded him 
to marry, but she could not give him love again. 1 have often de- 
termined that I would never so destroy my children's happiness. 

Frank. My beloved friend. 

Mrs. S. If all sons would but confide in their mothers. 

Frank. If all mothers would so win and deserve their sons' 
confidence. See ^her now ; and oh ! mamma, get her some gewgaws 
— some laces and ribbons, etc. (pointing to those still scattered 
about the room). 

Mrs. S. {st. iling). You go and mind the children, and send her 
to me. lExit Frank. 

Enter Marie. 

Mrs. S. Come and sit beside me. ( Takes her hand and looks 
at it.) You have not been accustomed to work } 

Marie. No, ma'am, not until of late. 

Mrs. S. I have heard your story. Suppose I take you for my 
daughter — I have only boys, and no'girl ; do you think you could 
love me } 

Marie. I love you already, ma'am. I love the children, and I 
am thankful that 1 can earn my living. 

Mrs. S. But if I take you for my daughter, you need not work. 

Marie. Dear lady, I am happier to render some return. Let me 
mind the children and love you, too. 

Mrs. S. I will get a girl to help you, and have you for my daugh- 
ter {kisses her), and you must have some dresses and some' laces. 

Marie. Dear lady, not until I earn them. 

Mrs. S. Some salary is due you now ; will you trust me to lay it 
out for )ou } 

Marie. Most gratefully. 

Mrs. S. I will send for your brother to see you to-day. 

Marie. Thanks, dear madam. ^Exit. 

Enter Frank. 
Mrs. S. I can see the lady in her. Young as she is, she had the 
intuitive instinct not to become a mere dependent. As my mother 
used to say : 

" For, by a pure and perfect instiqct taught, 
A lady can not act but as she ought.' 

Your love has not led )ou astra)-, my son. 



44 ' THE GREAT HOUSE. 

Frank. What will papa say about it ? 

Mrs. S. Your papa has a great deal of chivalry and tenderness 
in his nature, though he appears so proud and lofty ; but he must 
be managed aright. I will interest him for her. I will bring her 
in the parlor, and let her tell him her story. All will be well — 
leave me to manage him. (Frank k/sses his molhers hand.) 

Frank. Would that all men were in such leading-strings. 

Curtain. 

SCENE II. — Mrs. Stuvvesant'S^?;-/^;- (this can be the same as 
in the previous scene), opening into a conservatoty, in ivhich 
are varied fiowers in bloom. 
Marie {stands looking at the flowers. She is dressed in lihic silk 
and white lace, white rosebuds are in her hair and corsage. On 
her arm hangs a targe, flat white straw hat, also trimtned with 
white rosebuds. In her hand is a half-blown pink rose. She 
speaks to herselj.). And has brightness come into my life ? Am I 
to wear flowers ? For a long time it seemed as though mourning 
only would be my portion. Are pink flowers indeed forme? Is 
love for me .^ Oh I sweet flowers — harbingers of summer days — 
speaking of love and of brightness to the poor orphan. Come to 
my heart, I will cherish you there. I accept you as a token that 
happy days shall come again to Marie. He told me once that a 
pink rosebud was the emblem of a dawning love ; next day he gave 
me one, and now he has sent me this half-blown rose. Does he 
indeed mean love — pure love — the one wreath of Paradise bloom 
which brightens this dark world of ours 7 He would not deceive 
Marie. (Sings.) 

" Oh, no ! I trust him ; on his brow 
Are Faith and Honor 'throned ; 
I never shall believe him false, 
Or of his truth uncrowned." 

(Speaks.) Yes, I believe him ; and, oh ! 1 ha\e given him love in 
return. He has taught me to love ; he has awakened the feeling 
in my bosom. (Clas2)s both herhmids over her heart.) How 
kind and generous they all are. His father treats me, a poor 
orphan, with all the respect and chivaliy which one of Froissart's 
knightly hemes might show to a princess, and he — he behaves as 
though I were his queen. When I was abandoned by all the world, 
and had not where to lay my head, I said to brother then : All is 
well. I can look back now, and say I have trusted in God. As I 
said then, I say now, I fear not (daspi.vg her h(tnds). And true 
love is a gift which He alone can give. The world can not confer 
it, wealth can not buy it. (Sings.) 

" Oh, Love -that sweetens sugarless tea. 
And makes contentment and joy agree 
With the coarsest boarding and bedding ; 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 45 

Love that no golden ties can attach, 
But nestles under the humblest thatch, 
And will fly away from an Emperor's match 
To dance at a penny wedding." 

( While Marie sings, Frank enters icnperceived, and stands 
looki'tg at her with delight in his countenance. She walks about 
and speaks absently). He taught me to feel it. Lately I was a child, 
now I love, and I am a woman ; but I will never say so, no, never. 
Like a hidden treasure, I will guard it more than life. My first in- 
stinct is to conceal my secret feelings ; I will be merry again (sings). 

" I'd be a butterfly born in a bower, 
Roving forever from tlower to flower, 
And kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet." 

Frank {comes forward. She looks up and- stops singing. He 
takes her hand, boius low over if). To think that I have not seen 
you for a week. 

Marie {trying to appear unconcerned). Is it, indeed, a week .^ 

Frank. I hoped that you would have known how long I was 
gone. 

Marie. Your dear mother, my mother too, she desires me to 
say, has so filled up the time. 

Frank. I see that these are combined in my little cousin, the 
rose, the lily, and the stars 

Marie. Cousin, you told me not to say brother. 

Frank. Cousin will do for the present. What would you say? 

Marie {looking down very demurely). Roses and lilies have 
been heard of before, but what of the stars ? 

Frank. Your eyes, Marie, are shining like stars, roses are on 
your cheeks and lips, and the lilies are here {taking her hand, pre- 
senting a full-blown pink rose). 

Marie. Oh I cousin, such words are not for me. 

Frank. More than that, Marie. Your heart and soul are fair — 
fair as the king's daughter ; your love is a royal gift, and I ask it 
{sinks on one knee and takes her hand). 

Marie. Do you remember that I am only a poor orphan ? 

Frank S. You are a princess to me ; your own innocence and 
purity guard and surround you like a halo. I lift mine eyes when 
I look to you, and I onlv deem myself worthy to ask your love, be- 
cause from the day when first I saw you, I gave you all the love and 
all the devotion which man can give to woman. My whole life shall 
prove to you that if a deep and holy aff"ection can render me worthy 
of your hand, then only, dearest, can I ask it. 

(Marie raises her eyes to his). 

Frank. I am answered {kisses the hand which he holds). Can 
you love me, dear one ? {kisses her lips, rises and stands beside her). 

Marie. The feeling is so new to me. 

Frank. Mamma wants to welcome you. 



46 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

Marie. What will your papa sav .f* 

Frank. He is ready to welcome his daughter. 

Enter Mr. andVL^%. Stuvvesant. 

Frank {leads IsIkva'E. to meet them). You called her daughter; 
now she is indeed your daughter (MRS. S. embraces her. Mr. S. 
imprints a kiss upon her forehead). Daughter {he says, and they 
retire. [ExeuJit^. Frank draws Marie's ar7n within his oiun ; 
they walk about among the floivers). 

Frank. So, love, may life ever be for thee, crowned with flowers, 
sheltered from every wind ; yes, m\' life shall ever shelter yours, and 
yours shall crown mine. 

(Marie looks lovingly tip to him). 

Frank. Shakespeare was wrong. True love does sometimes 
run smooth, 

Marie. Yes {her eyes cast down). 

Frank. My dear mamma made all smooth for me ; she gave me 
life, and she has given me happiness with it. 

Marie. And she is my mamma, too. 

Frank. Yes, love, you have home and friends and father and 
mother now. 

Marie. And you gave them all to me Hooking up to him). 

Frank. And you double to me every blessing and every joy. 

Marie {smiling): Delicious flattery. 

Frank. You know that I am a lawyer.? 

Marie. Yes ; and do you actually plead in court } 

Frank. Why not? 

Marie. You seem to me so young ; the brother of the little 
children. 

Frank. 1 am old enough to be of some use to n)y Marie. 

Marie. You have already given me everything. 

Frank. I intend to go to Virginia and see what that Clerk, the 
Probate Judge, and the rest of that precious set are about. 

Marie. Do not leave me. 

Frank. You are the most precious thing on earth to me, Marie, 
whether you have nothing but the calico dress in which I first saw 
you, or whether you have a principality ; but every manly instinct 
in my nature is roused bv the treachery ot those men. Sworn, to be 
faith lul, bound by their ckity to care lor the orphans, thus to become 
the robbers and murderers of those whom they are trusted to pro- 
tect. 

Marie. Robbers, we believe that they were, but how murderers ? 

Frank. Because when you were thrown penniless upon the 
world by their cruelty, had life, health, or reason been the forfeit, 
would not they have been murderers ? I feel as though I can take 
neither sleep nor rest until I pursue and overtake them. 

Marie. What can you do ? 

Frank. lean scarcely tell before I see them; then I trust in 
Heaven to open some means to unmask their villainy. 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 47 

Marie. I fear for you, Frank. 

Frank. Never will I know fear in such a cause ; you are no 
longer an orphan, Marie. You have now home and parents ; you 
are loved by all who surround you ; the children grieve for every 
hour of your absence. 

Marie. Oh, dear, I ought to return to them ; I promised them 
the story of King John to-night. 

Frank. What about King John ? 

Marie. How when he was taken captive by the Black Prince he 
was allowed to return to France to arrange the payment of his 
ransom. He promised either to pay an immense sum or to return, 
and, when he found that his people were already impoverishec^and 
suffering, he chose rather tp return to England and die in captivity 
than to break his word. 

Frank. Well done, little lady; you speak as though you could 
have done so yourself. 

Marie {claspiiii^ her hands). I hope that I would have done so 
rather than break my word to one who trusted me. 

Enter Charles. Marie vieefs him. He kisses her. FRANK 
shakes hands warnt/y. They meet as a/ready acquainted. 

Frank {leading Marie fortuard). Permit me to present mv 
promised bride. 

Charles (surprised). Dear sister. Mr. Stuyvesant, my con- 
gratulations. 

Frank. From the first day that I saw her I have loved ; she is 
no more an orphan, and remember I am your brother. 

Charles. Welcome, brother. 

Frank. I intend soon to go to Virginia and see what that Pro- 
bate Judge and Clerk are doing there. 

Charles. Shall I go with you ^ 

Frank. My plan is to go alone, and appear as though I wished 
to investigate the titles and purchase the property. Supposing me 
a stranger to you, they will talk freely, and I shall find means, I 
think, to discover and unfold their web of deceit and villainy. 

Charles. How those men despoiled us — rich men, too — how 
they divided out the inheritance of the fatherless ! 

Marie (solemnly). I have seen a verse somewhere — 

" Be afraid of the spoil 
Which is gained without toil, 

For God will square accounts." 

Frank. I nothing doubt that God will give wisdom to my heart 
and strength to mine arm in this cause, and He will bring the right 
to pass. {In a position of command, zuith emphasis). I shall go 
forth in a strength which can not fail us. 

Charles. Does your father consent ? 

Frank. He suo-o-ested it. 



48 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

Fnter three little boys. They surround jMarie. Two take her 
hands, the least clings to her skirt. 

Marie. Yes, I must go. 
Frank. You will not leave us.' 

Marif. I ought to do my part; I always tell them a story, and 
hear their prayers before they go to sleep. 
Frank. Let us hear the story, too. 
Marie (archly). I am sure I can not keep you from coming. 

\Exet0it. 
Curtain. 



ACT VI. 

SCENE I. — Ojffice of the Clerk of Court, same as in Scene I. An- 
other room, farther back, must open from the office, and a hall 
on one side. A secret c upboard in the wall. Outside should 
be a large placard on which the words are visible, " Sale of 
the Randolph Estate." Clerk is sitting at a table. Pro- 
bate Judge is standing. Lawyer Fox sits in a chair, 
tilted back against the wall. 

Judge {should be speaking when the curtain rises). I seem to 
see my daughter begging her bread — alone in the streets. Terri- 
ble dreams scare my sleep ; dreadful ideas oppress my waking 
thoughts ! I can not free myself from them. I remember that 
widow, ruined by the war. She came to me to help her. She 
trusted me. You were in partnership with me then. Fox ; you 
were more hard-hearted than I. You know we kept her home for 
her, and then sold it for costs. It killed her, and now I seem to 
see her again ; and that orphan girl, she is always before me. 
Sometimes she is alone in the street — sometimes hired out as a 
servant — sometimes it is Marie, and sometimes it is my little Susie. 
Oh, if men could know when ihey begin a course of deceit and 
\ illainy what they are coming to ; if they could see it from the be- 
ginning, surely they would choose the path of virtue. What is 
labor — hard daily labor, with a clear conscience and an upright 
mind — compared to the torments which pursue me ? And when I 
have sinned for money, and lost my soul for money — what can I do 
with it ? I can not eat but one dinner, nor wear but one suit of 
clothes, nor live in but one house at a tmie. How little it can 
really do ! Yet money maddens the mind. There is an intoxica- 
tion of wealth and pride which lures us on, saying, my lucky star, 
I will not fail ! Thus it was that Napoleon rushe.d into his Russian 
campaign. The intoxication of success led him on to ruin. And 
yet I can not stop — I can not throw off the habit of a lifetime. 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 49 

Still I want gold — all the time I want gold. I can not rest except 
I have added something to my hoard each day. When I see that 
girl's face before me, still I want her gold. And you, Fox, when 
you helped me to defraud that widow— when we killed her — vou 
were in it all as well as I ; where is your conscience that it does 
not speak ? Do you expect to live forever? How do you still that 
inward voice which speaks to me ever, night and day .'' 

Fox. How do you know that there is any hereafter? It is just 
your idea ; you have no solid foundation for it. Did ever any one 
come back to bring word where he went or how he fared ? We 
know nothing of the future man — you start at shadows and let 
realities go by. Tell me of a pretty farm or of a profitable mill, 
which can be got by a little sharp practice, that is something 
tangible ; but what can dreams and shadows and faces which ap- 
pear do for you ? 

Judge. I feel within me that I shall soon be called to give an 
account for all these things, and I am not ready. I shall take that 
journey, and I have made no preparation. 

Clerk, wJiile he is speakim:^, has opened the secret receptacle, 
and brought out brandy and glasses, presents a glass of 
brandy. 

Judge. No ; let my conscience speak for once, she has not 
often been heard, {to Clerk), and you, Danielson, you were once 
a Methodist ; when you were poor you were religious ; it is making 
money which has caused you to forget your religion, and made vou 
as wicked as anybody, though you use fair words and cover it up 
with deceit. 

Clerk. This is getting awful ; drink ; you only need a stimulant 
{presenting the glass). 

Fox. Take it, man ; there is something tangible ; don't tell me 
about dreams and faces. 

Judge {tasting the liquor). What can riches do for me now, I 
am fast going where I can not carry them ; if all the gold which I 
have unjustly gained were placed in my coffin it would not go with 
my spirit when unclothed I stand before my Creator ; it would 
weigh me down {passes into the inner room lohile speaking). 

Knock at outer door. Enter FRANK Stuyvesant, accompanied 
by Augustus O'Leary, disguised as a servant . 

Frank S. I have been looking at a plantation which I see you 
have advertised for sale. 

Clerk {^very politely). Certainly it is for sale. 

Fox {drawing up a chair for FRANK). Splendid climate, sir; 
garden of the world. 

Clerk. Superior to Mentone, fine summer climate also ; near 
the mountains. 

Frank. I am particularly pleased with tife old family mansion 
which I have inspected. 



CO THE GREAT HOUSE. 

■^ '» 

Clerk. A very fine place. 

Fox. Excellent family lived there. 

Clerk. I had the highest possible regard for the late Mr. 
Randolph. 

Fox. Beautiful mansion, fine grounds. 

Frank. I hear that there is some dispute about the ownership 
of the estate ; how would titles be given ? 

Clerk. Perfectly square. 

Fox. Abundantly good. 

Frank. Who does it belong to now? 

Fox. It is likely to belong to us, and we wish a responsible 
purchaser. 

Frank. Who was the last owner.? 

Fox. A gentleman of the old \'irginia family of Randolph. 

Frank. And where is he ? 

Clerk. Died some years ago. 

Frank. Any children ? 

Fox. There were heirs, but they have disappeared from this 
part of the country, and it is of little use to advertise for them ; 
the debts will take the property. 

Frank. Did the late Mr. Randolph leave a widow? 

Clerk. Yes, a feeble, delicate lady; she also is dead. 

Frank. Please to let me examine the judgments which you say 
will take the property. 

(Clerk /ah-s out ledgers and documents). 

Fox {smiling blandly). We see at once, sir, that you belong to 
the upper ten, exactly the purchaser whom we would like to se- 
cure. 

Frank S. {examines tlie papers). Please to let me have certified 
copies which I can look over at my leisure. {Lays a piece of gold 
upon the table.) 

Clerk (caUs to young man in the inner room). Here 
Barnard, copies immediately. # 

{Young man goes to a desk, appears to icrite.) 

Frank. Is there any claimant other than the heirs of the late 
Mrs. Randolph ? 

Fox. None, sir ; title perfectly clear, but debts take the estate. 

Frank. You warrant the titles? 

Clerk. Entirely. 

Fox. Perfect; no doubt whatever rests upon them. 

Frank. I have heard somethi;ig about a claimant. 

Clerk. A mere man of straw ; did not know how else to put 
off the children. 

Fox. Did not like to tell them that the debts would take every- 
thing, our consideration for them was extreme. 

Frank. How did they come to be so niuch in debt ? 

Fox. May we understand that you are a man of the world, 
sir ? 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 51 

Frank. Oh ! certainly, I know what is what, though I ani 
young. 

Fox. You know then, sir, that persons in business sometimes en- 
gage in transactions which they would not altogether like to have 
closely sifted. 

Frank. Oh ! yes, I know that. 

Clerk. Are you anxious to purchase ? 

Frank. I have seen no plantation which pleased me so much. 

Fox (winTii)ig at him). Well, sir, if you will enter into our 
views, we can afford to knock off in your favor a couple of thou- 
sand or so. 

Clerk. Is your servant to be trusted } 

Frank. Entirely, I confide all my little views and exploits to 
him. 

Clerk. And is he always faithful ? 

Frank. He would no more " peach " than myself. 

Fox. And we might gratify him with a hundred or two. 

Frank. Do you hear, August — a hundred or two for you ? 

Aug. O'Le.ary {7i'it/i Irish accent). Thanks, your honor ; it's like 
yourself. 

Clerk [to young man). Take those papers into the other room, 
and tinish them. Look what the Judge is about, and keep him 
there. , \^Exit Barnard. 

Fox. Now for business. 

Frank. Explain the titles. 

Fox. When the late Mr. Randolph was a young man he was a 
little wild. Young men of spirit will be. 

Frank. I am a young man of spirit myself. 

Fox. So much the better. He had a particular friend, who went 
to the bad, and was always draining him of money. Well, Mr. 
Randolph was not then of age, and he could not get all the money 
that his friend wanted. One night this young fellow was actually 
pursLied by the bailiffs, and took refuge in a cabin at "Six. Ran- 
dolph's cjuarter. 

Frank. His house ? 

Clerk. No, no ; his servants' quarter. 

Fox. The negroes feel for a fellow in hiding. They kept him 
safe, got the sheriff's officers on a false scent, and then sent to Mr. 
Randolph. He had the horses got out, rode all night with this 
young scamp, got the money, and gave his own note for it. 

Clerk. His uncle and guardian heard of the transaction, plead 
infancy for him, and disowned it ; but the usurer who lent it had it 
carried into a judgment against him. When Mr. Randolph came 
of age he was fool enough to acknowledge his handwriting and 
promise to pay the money — in fact, he did pay it ; but when he 
was dead, and his widow was dead, there was no receipt filed, and 
that judgment was still open on the books, with interest for more 
than thirty years. 

Frank. But I tell you I am up to a thing or two — not that it 
may not serve a purpose ; it must be out of date. 



52 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

Clerk. We form a mutual aid association at this Court-house ; 
we all help each other sometimes. We found some convenient 
spaces in the Sheriff's books, and he oliliged us by entering pay- 
ments from time to time, which kept it in date ; and now it amounts 
to a large sum — more than everything there is. 

Frank. So tar, so well ; but who owns it ? 

Fox. That's a little partnership concern. We had a sale of it 
here, and bought it in among us. 

Clerk. Advertised it, too, and nobody the wiser. 

Frank. How was that managed .'' 

Fox. There was a little newspaper conveniently set up, and 
conveniently went down again. We advertised in that. 

Frank. I see that even in this part of the world there are good 
business men. 

Fox. You see the law makes each a check on the other — a beau- 
tiful system ; we check out our plans with each other, and all turns 
out convenient. 

Frank. A beautiful system. 

Clerk. And it is mostly widows and orphans that we have to 
deal with. What do they know about anything.? The widow 
wanted to administer, but the Judge always asked her a sum which 
he knew she could not furnish as security, and objected to whoever 
she brought in. We knew she could not live very long, and we 
put off until we could administer ourselves, once for all. 

Frank. That was pretty sharp practice. 

Clerk. We haven't been twenty years in office for nothing. 

Frank. Did the Probate Judge gi\ e his assistance } 

Fox. Certainly, my young friend. 

Frank. Can I see him ? 

Fox. He has had fits of hypochondria lately, and is not very 
well ; but he may wake up when he hears of money and a pur- 
chaser. He loves money as well as ever, and you remember we 
take off two thousand from the market price for you. I will see 
him. 

Yoy^gocs into the inner room an. i' returns with JUDGE. 

Clerk. Here is a purchaser for the Randolph plantation. 

Judge. Can he pay in cash ? 

Fox. Please to show some credentials and state your means. 
Your appearance and manners were enough for us ; but the Judge 
is an old hand — he used to be ahead of any of us. 

Frank sho-cvs papers. 

Clerk. Descended from the first Governor — no end of money — 
excellent — all right. 

TJiey look at the papers together. 

Fox. More than right, my fine fellow. We knew that you were 
somebody ; we could see that you have the look of a born gentle- 
man and a lad of spirit, too. 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 53 

Clerk. Ay, a lad of spirit. There is no milk and water about 
him. 

Judge. Indeed a spirited, tine young fellow; we hope to deal 
Avith you, sir. 

Clerk. To have you for a neighbor. 

Frank {to Judge). Can you warrant the titles to this prop- 
erty ? 

Judge {aside). I want that gold just as much as I did before 
Conscience ever spoke. {Aloitd.) Perfect, sir. All the officials of 
the County Court will join in making them complete. 

Frank. Please to show me how they will be expressed. 

Clerk. We bought 'hat judgment from the heirs of the original 
holder and doctored the books so that it will take everything. 

Frank. Suppose receipts are hereafter produced by the heirs ? 

Clerk. It seems a great negligence on our part that we have 
not taken possession of the family papers, but we hav^e been pre- 
vented so far. , 

Fox. In truth, sir, there are some families of Mr. Randolph's 
old servants still on the place. There is the old woman vvho was 
nurse to the children. Smce they left she and her family have 
moved into the servants' rooms adjoining the house, and they 
•openly say that no one shall touch anything until they see their 
young mistress here and she says the word. 

Judge. I had as lief face a file of soldiers as that old woman, 
and she has seven sons to back her. 

Frank. How would a purchaser, then, take possession ? 

Fox. When a sale has once taken place, it will be the duty ot 
the sheriff to call a posse, if necessary, and place the owner in 
possession. You have then only to examine the papers and destroy 
what you will. 

While Fox is speaking the Clerk's cVc;-/- has entered the room 
and delivered the copies of papers to FRANK Stuyvesant, 
7(jho has placed them in an inside iwst pocket and buttoned his 
coat over them. As Fox has finished speaking he draws him- 
self up and replies. 

Permit me to introduce to you my friend, Mr. Augustus O'Leary. 

TJie supposed servant rises, tlunvs off his liveried overcoat, and 
with proud, indignant air and manner stands beside Frank. 

Frank. Do you think my friend a good witness ? It is in that 
capacity that he accompanied me. 

Judge, Fox, and Clerk start back astonished. 

Frank. Permit me farther to inform you that I have the honor 
to be the promised husband of Miss Marie Randolph. 
Fox. You deceived us. 
Frank. I did not deceive you, sir, and I dare you to say that 



54 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

again. Had the property been sold, I would have purchased it be- 
cause it was her childhood's home. 

Clerk. We will give up everything if you will not expose us. 
{Takt's gold and fiotes out of iJie safe and hands tJicm io Frank.) 
Here is the nionev now. 

Frank. So you were hoarding this gold while those children 
were sent out penniless upon the world. Had evil come to them, 
■do you not know that it would have been required of you ? I have 
with difficulty restrained my indignation as you disclosed the par- 
ticulars of your vile plot. You {to Fox) solemnly swore to be 
faithful, just, and true in all legal transactions, to establish the 
right, to defend the innocent, and always to prefer the interest of 
your client to your own, and here I find you deliberately defrauding 
the orphans whom you should as a man, as a gentleman, and as a 
lawyer have felt yourself bound to guard and to protect. [To the 
Clerk.) You promised, in taking your oath of office, honestly 
and truly to administer the estates of the widows and orphans in- 
trusted to your care, to act in all cases for their interest, and to 
protect them from the dishonesty of others. You promised these 
fatherless children to be as a father to them, and to regard their 
money as a sacred trust. You then form a plan to embezzle it. 
(Z(9 the Judge, luho seems already trembling and sinking.) You 
are the highest officer of the law at this county-seat ; you should 
have controlled the others. You solemnly swore in the presence 
of the Almighty, and called on Him to witness, that you would 
hold dearer than life or worldly interest the weltare of the bereaved 
and helpless ones — the widow and the oi-phan — committed to your 
charge. You are the guardian appointed by the law, and intrusted 
with the duty of protecting their property 3nd their interest from 
the rapacity of others, and you join with them to rob these orphan 
children. You drove them from their home — you cast them upon 
the world, v,hile you were to seize upon their estate and make a 
profit of their money; but Heaven itself has guarded them against 
you. Heaven surely inspired and enabled those simple, faithful 
servants to protect their home and private papers from your sacri- 
legious approach, and Heaven has raised them up a defender and 
an advocate in me. 

While Frank is speaking, the ]vdge totters nnd sjuays. As 
Frank ceases, he siiiJcs heavily to the floor ; his face should 
he red, almost purjile, then change (if it can be done) to 
ashy j)nJ^i^ess as he falls. The Clerk, 7aho has remained in 
his arin-chair, takes his crutch, and attempts to rise. Fox 
goes over to the judge and tries to raise him, fiis eyes open 
and stare unldly, clo.se and he is dead. 

Frank. This isindeed the judgment of God. 
Clerk. I beseech you not to betray us. 

Frank. I give you three days to leave the country, never to be 
seen here again. And, hark, leave your houses and lands-^your ill- 



THE GREAT HOUSE. 55^ 

gotten gains — to make restitution to the widows and orphans whom 
you have robbed and deceived for twenty years. 

[Excu/it Frank S. and O'Leary. 

SCENE II. — A hall outside the door of the Clerk's office. Clar- 
inda is standing in expectant, eager attitude. Her sons 
(some or all seven, they .should be tall, strong men) are 
grouped a little distant-e from Iter. 

Enter from Clerk's o^ce Frank S., acconqjanied 6y/ O'Leary. 

She seizes his (Frank's) luoid and falls xipon her knee.^ 

before him. 
Clarinda. Tank de Lord, dis my n'young massa ; tank de 
Lord who has plead for de faderless. {Her sons bow low, and 
smile upon Frank, and look their delight while she is speak- 
ing-.] Clarinda {contimie.s). Ebeiy night ob de full moon we 
has walked roun' dem men, and prayed de Lord to look upon dem 
and on our missy ; and de Lord hab looked on dem (rising to her 
feet, and looking up). De Lord hab had dem in derision. 

Curtain. 

SCENE III.— Mrs. Stuyvesant's parlor. Mrs. S. and 
Marie are seated together. 

Mrs. S (reading a letter). "Marie and Charles are now in 
undisputed possession of Randolph hospitality. Until they arrive, 
August and I represent the family here. Clarinda and her sojis 
amount to quite a clan ; when I returned to see them again, they 
surrounded me, embracing my knees and kissing my hands. 
Nothing would suit but that I must take up my abode in the house,, 
that thev might feel as though one of the family were at home 
again. That night they gave a ball upon the lawn ; genteel and 
ancient family serv^ants assembled in great numbers. I was 
serenaded and complimented until I felt like a king or a patriarch. 
I made a speech and assured them that right must triumph in the 
end. I have promised Clarinda that we will spend the Christmas 
among them. 

" And now, mother dear, I end with a petition. If Marie be not 
unwilling, let everything be in readiness, and let me call her mine 
to part no more, as soon as I arrive. With a heart full of thankful- 
ness and love. Your affectionate son. 

" Frank Stuvvesant." 

Mrs. Stuyvesant. What shall I say, Marie dear, you are to 
do just as you choose. Is he too presumptuous,? 

Marie. As you and he will, dear kind mother ; my heart is too 
full of love and gratitude to say him nay. 

Mrs. S. (embracing her). Darling daughter; darling, none but 
the brave deserve the fair, none but the brave— none but the 



56 THE GREAT HOUSE. 

brave — none but the brave deserve the fair. (Mrs. S. in a 
transjjort.) 

Enter sej-vant with a letter on a silver icaiter. 

Mrs. S. (irads). He will be here to-morrow (kisses Marie) ; 
don't disappoint him, darling. (Mrs. S. throws ojien the door 
of a s-mall room, where are seen luces, floioers, silks, girls at 
work). Sew the flowers on the dress ; there is the veil ; orange 
blossoms. 

Curtain. 

SCENE IV. — Mrs. Stuyvesant's parlor, conservatory beyond. 
A marriage bell 0/ white flowers is setup in the j^crlor. 
Other decorations for a bridal. Little girls appear scatter- 
ing flowers. A clergyman in Episcopal robes stands ready, 
hook in hand. Charles, some guests, the children, baby 
too, in charge of tivo neat servant girls, are grouped. Frank 
enters in full dress, flower in btitton-hole, etc. Stands near 
the marriage bell. Mr. and Mrs. Stuyvesant enter with 
Marie between thein in her bridal robes. Frank takes his 
station under the bell. 
Mr. S. {leads Marie to his side, and lays her hand in his, 

says) : I give away the bride. 

Frank hands the ring to the clergyman, loho says: 1 bless 
the ring. 

Curtain. 

FINIS. 



■-wiMUHESS 



0016102587 2 P 



